


Unanswered Prayers

by two_ff



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Complete, F/M, HP: EWE, Magical Bond, May/December Relationship, Mildly Dubious Consent, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-08-31 11:36:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 27,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8576974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/two_ff/pseuds/two_ff
Summary: Sometimes the best prayers are the ones that don't get answered...





	1. Chapter 1

“Get Poppy! He’s still alive.”

“Minerva, she’s quite busy —“ Nurse Wainscott pleaded. _So many casualties…_

“No one deserves her attentions more than this man! Now GO! Have her meet me in the hospital wing. Oh! And bring Ms. Granger; she might be of help.”

 

With a flick of her wand, Minerva levitated the injured Order of the Phoenix member through the hallways. She transfigured an empty but clean chamber pot into a medical bed and a wilted stand of cut flowers into bedding before laying him tenderly in it.

 

“Stay with us, Severus. You’ve earned a long life and a quiet rest…”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a response to a challenge by MissCourtneyC who asked in the Story Wanted forum on AFF:
> 
> _“Topic 9: Having my iTunes on shuffle certainly is a helpful inspiration. At the moment I just thought of a song fic Garth Brooks' 'Unanswered Prayers'_
> 
> _And of course, I am biased. I'd love to see this as ending in Snape/Hermione (or Ginny [I can't really see Severus Snape with anyone but Hermione or Ginny. Any other female else usually gives me the creeps]) with the hint of (obviously) Snape/Lilly since that was who he used to want.”_
> 
>  
> 
> Albus Dumbledore here is the Richard Harris edition, not Michael Gambon’s interpretation. I needed a different nuance to make the interactions with Snape work. Also - obviously - Snape survives the snake's attack, making this story AU for canon purists.


	2. Chapter 2

“Madame Pomfrey…” the young witch stuttered out, “I-I-I’ve never done potions this complicated.”

“Nonsense! You kept Harry and that slow-witted Ronald Weasley — _oh, I’m sorry, dear_ ; you two are rather an item now. But he is quite accident prone and not the brightest of Molly’s children, you’d have to agree. I have complete confidence; if you kept those two alive you can help this patient.”

 

Without another word, Hermione set herself to the task of brewing the antivenin. Until it worked its “magic” on the patient, no healing would occur. She’d been hiding on the other side of the wall under Harry’s invisibility cloak when the snake attacked. Now she regretted leaving the man for dead.

 

Without his work for the Order, her world would not exist and given her blood status, neither would she.

 

* * *

 

“ **Why would you agree to this, Hermione!?** ”

 

Ron's large hands, squeezing her arms to force her attention, sent pain radiating to the bone.

 

“Professor Snape needs **care** , Ronald! He’s been risking his life for **17 years**! He **deserves** to be healed!”

“But why **you**!? You’re not a healer.”

“He’s a difficult patient, even when he’s unconscious. He’s… cast a lot of charms and taken a lot of potions to serve the Order. They make it hard to treat him. It was Madame Pomfrey or me and she certainly can’t leave her other patients.”

“I don’t like it! If you’re going to be my girlfriend then you can’t be with _him!_ It’s not  proper!”

 

That set off her legendary temper.

 

“ _ **Proper**_!? The man is  unconscious and barely _alive_! He might **die** — or I might _**kill**_ him since I’m _**not a healer**!_ But he **deserves** care!”

“I’m not waiting for you to live my life. I’ve already lost a year to this ‘quest’ of Harry’s.”

“So defeating Voldemort was a ‘quest’ for you. That’s good to know, Ronald.”

“You know what I mean! It’s different when you have a family, brothers and sisters! You and Harry don’t get what that’s like — you never did!”

“For once can you think about someone other than yourself!? This man sacrificed **everything** to defeat the Dark Lord!”

“ _ **Everything**_!? He’s a **Death Eater** , for Merlin’s sake! **Don’t make him sound like a bloody** **_saint! _** He only switched sides when his crush was killed by You-Know-Who!! He’s no hero, Hermione!”

 

Struggling, Hermione freed herself from his vice-like hold.

 

“That’s **exactly** what he is and I intend to take care of him for as long as he needs it!”

“No worries! There’re _plenty_ of girls willing to be with a real hero not a **traitor**! Have a nice life.”

“Ron! RON! You're not being **fair**! **RON!** ”

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Where am I?”

 

Severus Snape lay naked on the bed as Hermione tended his serious wounds. It took over three weeks for the antivenin potion to defeat the venom from Nagini’s bite and another week before the toxins stopped eating his vital organs.

 

“You’re in Iceland.”

 

For the last week she’d bathed him in charms and fed him healing potions in a nutritious broth through a tube magically inserted down his throat.,

 

“ _Why am I in Iceland_?”

“You were… injured… by a snake bite.”

“Nagini attacked me. The Dark Lord —“

 

Snape scratched at the quiescent tattoo marking him as a traitor to Voldemort’s cause.

 

“— he unleashed that snake on me because he thought I controlled the Elder wand. Your presence and my continued existence must mean he failed. Did Potter defeat him?”

 

His former student stilled her ministrations long enough to answer.

 

“Thanks to you.”

“So Potter sacrificed himself. He’s dead.”

“No, he’s alive. Voldemort is dead. All of him.”

“I don’t understand…”

“I don’t wonder. You’ve been unconscious for almost five weeks; the details can wait until you’re better.”

 

Turning, to face his nurse with his queries, exhausted him.

 

“Why are you here?”

“Someone needed to care for you. The healers are stretched pretty thin since the war ended and most of them can’t brew the potions you need. You were a very good teacher, Professor. I’ve been able to make all the potions Madame Pomfrey prescribed for you. She comes out once a week to check on you and me; she’ll be glad you’re awake.”

“I take it ‘caring’ for me requires nudity?”

 

Hermione blushed, startling him. Based on what used to be his nightly patrols of Hogwarts he’d determined all adolescents to be randy, immodest twits with no decorum or discrimination. Hermione Granger moved herself away from that generalization with that blush.

 

“Nagini’s venom and teeth damaged you badly, Professor, and you didn’t begin to heal until the venom was neutralized. I’ve been cleaning you daily to prevent any further damage and bathing your wounds in a potion.”

“What grave sin did you commit to end up here with me and not basking in the glory of your success in defeating the Dark Lord? I would think Rita Skeeter must be salivating to get your dulcet voice on record in an interview.”

 

Hermione huffed, disgusted with all the notoriety and attention lavished on Harry and Ron. At least Harry had the decency to deflect credit to the many who helped along the way. Ron, the ginger git, wove a tale where he alone defeated the greatest evil in wizarding history after rescuing Harry and Hermione.

 

“I am happy to be well away from that; helping you regain your health is far more fulfilling. Your injuries demand and deserve any help I can provide; without you we would have failed.”

 

With respect for his dignity, she completed her task and re-covered him with the heavy cotton sheet on the bed.

 

“If you’re up to it, I have clothes for you. I also have hospital gowns if those would be easier.”

“Thank you, Ms. Granger, for reducing my embarrassment at having a very attractive former student handling my body without my knowledge.”

“I’m sorry, Professor.” she apologized, though she wasn’t.

“Don’t be. You and Poppy saved my insignificant life. It is bad manners to be ungrateful so please let me express my gratitude. I was well prepared for my death; now it seems I shall have to consider what to do with the rest of my life.”

 

Sitting up gingerly, he let the sheet fall to his waist, looking around their accommodations. Through the bedroom door he could see a great room and, beyond it, a kitchen. During the comatose portion his convalescence he’d dreamed of hearing footsteps above him so he hypothesized there must be an upstairs. Always curious, he probed their living arrangements with her.

 

“Ms. Granger, where are your accommodations?”

 

With a finger, she pointed to corner where he noted a folding camp cot overlaid with a cushioning pad, sheets and a light blanket. A pillow sat dead center.

 

“That looks uncomfortable.”

 

The glint of a smile appeared on her face.

 

“I needed to be close in case you needed me.”

“And did I?”

“Yes; but it’s gotten better the longer we’ve been here.”

 

Severus Snape considered this before speaking again.

 

“And _where_ , exactly, is ‘ _here_ ’ again?”

“Flatley, Iceland”

“Elaborate.”

“You needed to be close enough for me to get help caring for you and far enough away that I wouldn’t spend my days taking care of you and my nights defending you from rogue Death Eaters and malcontents with grudges because their side lost.”

“I see. You set the protections, I would presume, having kept Potter and that clot Weasley alive for a year. You were always too bright to have friends like them. Although Potter’s impressed me with his ability to accomplish Dumbledore’s ridiculously complicated plan. Must be Lily’s genes.”

 

The young witch in front of him brought Lily to mind. Lily, a muggle-born herself, arrived at Hogwarts with prodigious natural talents. Without Lily's skills, and her sacrifice, the Chosen One would not have survived the night that Voldemort destroyed Severus’ only reason for continuing to breathe.

 

“Our informative discussion has tired me. I’d like to rest after a trip to the facilities —”

“Oh, that’s not necessary, Professor. If you’re feeling tired I can —”

“That’s quite alright, Ms. Granger. If you will assist me, I will take over those responsibilities for myself.”

 

Twenty minutes later he’d returned from the longest trip to urinate he’d ever experienced since being toilet trained and Hermione touched a conscious man’s genitals for the first time. Neither enjoyed the experience.

 

 

* * *

  

“What are you making?” he inquired days later as he trudged slowly out of the bedroom for the first time.

“Soup stew. You must be tired of broth. Since you’re moving around more and dressing yourself I asked Madame Pomfrey if I could vary your diet.”

 

Severus noted her efficient movement in the small kitchen. A large pot burbled, releasing savory aromas throughout the cottage. An apron, worn over her casual attire of jeans and jumper, protected her from the occasional eruptions of soup splashed as more ingredients — fresh herbs and vegetables with bottled seasonings — landed in the simmering pot.

 

“It smells appetizing. What is it?”

“Lentil and lamb with vegetables. Do you want to eat here or in your bed?”

 

The table and benches in the kitchen looked uncomfortable.

 

“I’d prefer the living area if that can be accomplished.”

“Let me find something I can use as a tray…”

 

Some scraping, dragging and stacking later had the microwave cabinet moved next to the sofa and set up for their meal.

 

“I hope you like it. You seemed to enjoy the lamb entrees during meals at school.”

 

His spoon stopped halfway between his mouth and the bowl despite the exquisite flavors it held.

 

“Why would you notice that?”

“Because it was the only time I didn’t see you frowning. When I thought you would reveal Remus Lupin as a werewolf, I studied you to see if I could get something on you, blackmail you into keeping quiet.”

“So know-it-all fits you to a tee, Ms. Granger?”

 

Little snark came through the bait. 

 

_He’s testing me…_

 

“In a few years it will.” she grinned.

“The meal is remarkable. Where did you learn to cook?”

“At home. Normal activity for Muggle children and I enjoyed it.”

 

He picked up on her slight embarrassment at saying that to him.

 

“Don’t be ashamed of who you are, Ms. Granger. My father was a Muggle - although, based on Muggle standards, he wasn’t a very successful one.”

“You seem to have turned out okay, Professor. You’re a hero.”

 

No further conversation parted the silence.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

The noise brought Snape straight up in the bed. Terror ripped through him. Torture was being inflicted somewhere in the dungeon. But he wasn’t in the dungeon; daylight streaming in the windows at midnight told him he wasn’t even in Britain.

Swiveling to pinpoint the source, he eased out of bed and followed the sound, wand raised and ready. It originated from the cot, now moved out of his bedroom and into a distant corner of the living area. Hermione tossed and turned, begging to be released as she had no knowledge to pass on. The skilled legilimens dropped inside the madness of her mind and watched the movie of her mistreatment at the hands of the psychopath formerly known as Bellatrix LeStrange. On her arms, scars from the curses weeped pale blood through her skin and pulsed, swollen and bruised, while she thrashed.

 

“Ms. Granger! You are dreaming. Ms. Granger — WAKE UP!”

 

Breaking away from the memory looping in her head, the terrified young heroine reacted to her rescue by hugging him, sobbing into his nightshirt.

 

“Ms. Granger, calm yourself. You’ve had a nightmare, that’s all.”

 

Eight weeks into his confinement Severus regained sufficient presence of mind to understand what happened. As her charge gained more and more independence, Hermione lacked a focus to keep the memories at bey. Absent the sights and sounds of his recovery, her active mind plumbed it’s own recent horrors to work through in her sleep.

Gently prying her arms from around his neck, he re-entered his own room and borrowed a potion she’d brewed for him a month ago; it hadn’t been necessary for weeks. In the living area, he gently untangled her. She’d curled up on herself, locking her hands and arms around her bent legs and retreating to the furthest point on the small cot. Snape understood the hollow, haunted look to her; he’d been tortured before — with and without magic.

 

“Drink this — no, don’t resist; drink this or I will leave you here alone.”

 

The threat worked. Drinking poison was better than being left alone with those memories.

 

“Excellent! Let’s move your bed back into the room with me. I may require nursing after the interruption to my sleep. You’re unlikely to hear me if you’re caterwauling in your sleep out here.”

 

Desperate and fearful, Hermione obeyed each instruction, the scraping sounds continuing until her cot sat back in its corner in his bedroom.

 

“No, Ms. Granger. I think you should be closer; I’d prefer not having to yell to get your attention. Place your cot beside my bed. That’s it.” he coached her.

“Alright. Now make yourself comfortable and go back to sleep. Tomorrow you will accompany me on a walk and I’d prefer not to have to levitate you back to our domicile. Good night, Ms. Granger.”

“Thank you, Professor.” came small and broken.

 

The roles of patient and nurse were swapped. Severus did not sleep while she slept.

 

_________________________________

 

“Professor, don’t do that, please! That’s my responsibility!”

“Unfortunately, Ms. Granger, your body demanded sleep while mine demanded sustenance,” he corrected, flipping his creation in the pan with practiced ease.

 

At that distance she missed his whispered expletive; he'd miscalculated the dosage in the sleeping draght he'd administered after her nightmare.

 

“I’m sorry…”

“That seems to be a common refrain with you. What have you done to be sorry for this time?”

 

Attitude flashed in her eyes.

 

_Good! She fights the effects…_

 

“I should be cooking not sleeping.”

“The effects of torture by an expert — and Bellatrix was certainly skilled in this area — can take years to dissipate. Not to mention dear, departed Bella — am I incorrect in assuming that Bella is no longer with us?”

“She’s **dead**. Molly Weasley ended her.”

 

Her tone held no remorse at Bellatrix’s death.

 

“Consider that Bella took great pride in her work. You, therefore, have nothing to be sorry for. And as I am no longer your teacher, calling me Professor is inaccurate. I am Severus, the newly unemployed former Death Eater and former headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

 

The reduction in formality did not have the intended result immediately but, as he had much healing to do, he took what could be had and resigned himself to patience with her.

 

“May I help?”

“No. Prepare yourself for the rest of the day and do so in ten minutes or less.”

 

Eight minutes later she returned — hair washed, teeth scrubbed and body dressed — and they tucked in at the table he'd prepared.

 

“This omelet is wonderful, sir. Where did you learn to cook like this?”

“The benefits of a solitary life. I have no wife and no true friends so I have grown used to tending to myself — until you were assigned as my nursemaid.”

“That’s sad…”

“I agree: assigning you has been a sad state of affairs.”

 

For the first time she caught the teasing note in his parlay.

 

“Well, considering you fought every healer except me and Madame Pomfrey, you’re lucky to get me.”

“My luck continues — first the Dark Lord, then Potter with a bit of Draco-saving thrown in, and now you.”

“As I said, it just keeps getting better.”

“Optimist…” he muttered under his breath.

 

* * *

 

Fingers poked and prodded the wounds on his neck and chest.

 

“These aren’t healing as well as the others.”

“To be expected as they are the insertion points for the venom. They’re cursed.”

“I’ll speak with Madame Pomfrey… Maybe she has a reference I can use.”

“You do understand the word ‘cursed’, Ms. Granger?”

“Yes, and since you’ve forced me to call you ‘Severus’ for the past three weeks I am ‘Hermione’.”

“That would be inappropriate as I am considerably older than you.”

“Not in maturity. My mother used to say I was born an ‘old soul.”

“I will admit that your presence over the last three months has not caused the nausea that being held hostage by one of your peers would have provoked. I would probably have expired the first night.”

 

The joke made her laugh. To his surprise, he enjoyed her response.

 

“Can you look after yourself for a few hours?” 

“No, as I have no experience with that.”

“Sarcasm will get you nowhere.”

“I am already living in ‘nowhere’.”

 

She shook with genuine laughter, completely missing his mystified look.

 

“I’m going to do some research at Hogwarts. Hopefully the Restricted section survived the war.”

“I’ll have dinner prepared for your return. Be here by 7 p.m. London time and be punctual.”

“Yes, _sir!_ ” she chuckled and apparated out.

 

The hours until her return dragged on. She missed the dinner deadline and irritated him.

 

“Hi!" she called out as she re-entered the cottage, "I’m sorry I’m late but the library is a mess and I had to chase Professor McGonagall around to get permission —” 

 

He’d left the meal on the table with a warming spell. A clean gingham cloth covered the maple table as did the vase she often filled with flowers for his bedroom; he’d stuffed it with wildflowers. A note lay propped up on the vase:

 

 

> _Bouillabaisse does not age well, so I suggest eating it immediately upon your return. I have eaten and should be asleep. I have cleared the bookcases in the upstairs bedroom as you have a propensity for acquiring texts. As punishment for your tardiness, you can cook breakfast._
> 
> _Severus Snape_

 

Hermione finished the soup — it was wonderful — and cleaned the kitchen thoroughly. Stacking the books on the table and chairs around her in the cheerful kitchen, she began her search for a treatment for cursed wounds.

Worried at her absence from the cot that still sat next to his bed, Severus rose and found her sound asleep, head down in one of the texts. Groaning with the effort after months of lassitude, he carried her into the bedroom they still shared. It never occurred to him to levitate her — a sure sign, to his own lack of reasoning, that he'd sustained an undiagnosed head injury. His back protested any bending movement toward the low-rise cot so he abandoned that goal, instead placing her in his own bed and taking the cot. Covering her, Severus lowered himself to the cot and finally settled into a deep sleep.

 

She was safe.

 


	5. Chapter 5

“We should pack.”

“I am not in agreement with this decision.”

 

The debate spanned the limited distance between them as each studied from shared magical texts spread across the low table and sofa in the cottage. For not the first time in the weeks since the arctic winter's aggressive arrival, Hermione made her case — much to her patient's annoyance.

 

“Severus, in a month the weather here will get severe — we _are_ in Iceland. You require a milder climate over the next four months, not to mention you should have more than 3 hours of daily sunlight.”

“I’ve grown quite comfortable here and, as I am not fully healed, any undue stress will delay my full recovery. Regarding the lack of sunlight, you do remember that I lived in a dungeon at Hogwarts? Sunlight has been overrated for centuries.”

 

These comments came more easily; inciting her laughter became part of his recovery.

 

“In all seriousness, Hermione, you have been trapped with a near-invalid for almost five straight months. Other than occasional trips for supplies and books, you’ve been a bloody nuisance in caring for me. I would guess you must be missing your friends and the life of a normal 20 year old.”

“18 —“

“You’re only 18?”

"Last September."

 

Agedness descended and not from his injuries.

 

“Don’t you miss your life? I would presume you’d like to get back to it. I am capable of looking after myself now. I promise not to run away and get myself killed by any fugitive Death Eaters or Fenrir.”

“Please don’t make light of it. Voldemort may be dead but the war certainly isn’t over. I have no desire to return to the fighting or the attention or the misuse of my reputation by the press.”

 

The tears surprised and bothered him — he’d caused them.

 

“I see no reason to leave as I am not yet healed. This place suits me, especially now that I know that most everyone else will be leaving the island for the winter. Let Minerva know I will be laying in supplies and remaining here. Poppy can make her usual weekly visits. I would remind you that I taught Potions for many years; I am certain I can produce whatever she prescribes. You should go back to the world, Miss Granger.”

 

She pondered this for the better part of an hour.

 

“As I can see you’re tired of having me here, I propose this: **we** will stock the cottage for a winter-over and when **I** am satisfied that it’s safe for you to be here, I will leave you to your solitude. Otherwise I stay.

“You are stubborn, a typical Grffindor!”

“And you, Severus, should not be alone until you’re healed.”

“When’s the latest date for moving?”

“Mid-December — and that’s risky.”

“Then I shall —”

“ ** _We —_** _”_

 _“We_ shall prepare my cave for hibernation and you can return to the land of the living.”

“I’ll let Professor McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey know.”

“You should have been in Slytherin.”

“After the year I've had,” she chuckled, “I may just get resorted.”

 

* * *

  

“Hermione?…”

 

Feeble and breathy, Hermione heard Severus call for her. He’d overdone the efforts to prepare for a winter-over in Flatley: a minor nick from the edge of a cardboard box led to a raging infection. It’d been difficult to spot in the rawness of his cursed wounds. The fever roared in three nights ago and he’d been delirious until 30 seconds ago. She’d notified Poppy Pomfrey who’d sent a recipe for a potion and told her to hang in; Severus had to struggle with this or he’d never be able to return to a normal life full of normal germs.

 

“I’m here…”

“Where am I?…”

 

 _So weak_ … He’d never sounded like this, even when he’d first come out of the coma.

 

“Still in Iceland. You have an infection of some kind. It’s not safe for you to be around others; you could get worse.”

 

The bat’s hearing noted her quavering voice.

 

“Why are you crying?…”

“You almost died! If I hadn’t been here, Madame Pomfrey wouldn’t have known and wouldn’t have come in time to save you. You can’t stay here alone, Severus. You’re not healed yet.”

“I can’t trap you here. You have a different life to live, Gryffindor. One you fought to create.”

“Don’t call me that. You do that to keep me from being your friend, to create differences between us.”

“You are a Gryffindor. That is a fact…”

“I am Hermione and you should be sleeping.”

“How long have you been awake?”

“A day…” she lied.

“You’re a true Gryffindor — you lie badly, unlike a true Slytherin.”

 

As relief and humor replaced fear and worry, she laughed and his improvement from this setback was palpable.

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

“ _Absolutely_ **NOT**!”

 

Humming and ignoring his objection, Hermione dragged her bounty through the front door of the Icelandic cottage, dropping the interior temperature 15-deg-F while the door lay open. 

 

“I’ll clean up the snow and the needles after we put it up. Isn’t it gorgeous?”

 

Four-foot of bushy pine tree lay in their living area, dripping needles and snow on the area they’d just cleaned.

 

“WHY is that here?”

“Because you’ve never had a proper Christmas and everyone should have at least one proper Christmas.”

“Hermione, if I desired to celebrate this incredibly materialistic justification for overspending one's means and drinking into stupefaction, have you not reasoned that I would have done so at Hogwarts?”

 

Worrying her lower lip told Severus that she had an answer but feared speaking it aloud.

 

“Be a brave little Gryffindor and answer.”

“You didn’t have friends to celebrate it with. It isn’t the same.”

“ _And what has changed_?”

 

The answer mattered more to Severus than to Hermione.

 

“You have me. You’re not alone anymore.”

 

Severus' thumb and index finger pinched the skin between his eyebrows as he closed his eyes. Amongst the maladies wizards were supposedly immune to were migraines (although one stood not two feet away holding the recently severed trunk of a large conifer).

 

“If I indulge you yet again, will you remove that monstrosity from my clean floor and carpet when this ‘holiday’ is done?”

 

Youthful glee suppressed her common sense. Hermione threw herself against him, hugging him tightly in gratitude for compromising on this point.

 

“Thankyou-Thankyou-Thankyou!”

“You _do_ realize there’s a major flaw in your plan.”

“What’s that?” she grunted out as she maneuvered the tree, Muggle-style, towards its final location.

“Presents, Hermione. Doesn’t a celebration this insipid require the exchange of presents?”

“It does and I already have yours.”

“As I did not anticipate participating in this, I haven’t acquired anything for you.”

“You have five days — and it can’t cost more than five galleons.”

“Why???…”

“Because it’s the thought that counts.”

 

* * *

 

 

Five days later, Hermione and Severus exchanged presents at midnight of Christmas Day. He’d been well enough to do a short walk in the snow, circling the cottage while they discussed approaches to brewing up something to help with his wounds. She’d uncovered information he hadn’t known.

 

“Here — Happy Christmas, Severus!”

 

Carefully unwrapping the rectangular object, he found a photo album. Inside were more than 30 pictures of Lily Potter from infancy through her graduation from Hogwarts, none with James Potter or the other Marauders in them.

 

“Harry helped me get them. I know you loved her; she mattered a great deal to you.”

 

Tears dripped down his large nose and onto the photo of Lily lying under the tree near their houses on Spinner’s End.

 

“No one knew… except Dumbledore. Voldemort said I could have better, pure-blood witches at my disposal, not a filthy mudblood. James Potter married her and Voldemort killed her… my Lily…”

 

Without a word, Severus rose and retreated to their shared bedroom, closing the door. Hermione's lips curved in silent compassion as she retreated to the sofa; she’d expected this reaction. Hours later he found her asleep, unwilling to intrude on his privacy.

 

“Hermione…”

 

He shook her gently, knowing how deeply she slept when she _really_ slept.

 

“Hermione… it’s Christmas and I haven’t given you your present.”

“Severus? Are you okay?” she asked, sleep causing her to blink adorably in the sudden brightness.

“Yes, except for the challenge your narcoleptic sleeping pattern presents. I have something for you.”

 

Reaching deep in his lounging robes, he pulled out a small packet wrapped in plain paper but sporting an enchanted ribbon that changed colors and bow shapes.

 

“Thank you. You do know you didn’t have to.”

“I doubt that. I cherish the peace and quiet here most days and would like for it to remain that way.”

“Oh, Severus!”

 

A beautiful silver chain held a small translucent vial delicately housed in lacy platinum.

 

“It’s a potion; draught of peace and everlasting elixir. When you have nightmares, just take a sip.  The chain was my mother’s. The vial will always refill itself…”

 

Walking on her knees across the thick carpet, Hermione parted _his_ knees where he sat on the sofa, leaned into his torso and hugged him.

 

“Thank you,” she breathed out, her head resting lightly on his ripped flesh but causing no discomfort.

 

He held her and couldn’t remember when they’d gotten up and retired to their beds.

 

* * *

  

“‘ello? Hermione?”

 

The call from a stranger’s voice finally got through the fog of her second sleep. Twisting, on the cot, into a new position to ignore the noise disturbed the vial resting against her bosom — which reminded her of the last twelve hours. 

 

“They’re here!” she shouted. “Coming!”

 

A whirlwind flew around the cottage's bedroom and into/out of the bathroom.

 

“Severus! Wake up — we have company! Severus!”

“I am not deaf. I thought the benefit of this location was its secrecy and, formerly, its quiet.”

“Don’t be a grouch,” she scolded playfully, “just get up and get ready.”

 

Giddy with anticipation, she bounded out the of the bedroom like a five-year-old — inadvertently slamming the door in her patient's stern-expressioned face.

 

“Harry! Professor! Come in, please!”

“You’ve been hiding out here forever while I’ve been stuck with Ron by myself. He can be a right prat around girls.”

 

Laughing in their hug, Hermione confirmed her knowledge of Ron’s maturity level.

 

“Professor McGonagall,” Hermione greeted their other guest warmly, “please come in and sit down. Who did you bring with you?”

 

A bag way too small to be useful dangled from Minerva McGonagall’s wrist.

 

“Potter, a bit of assistance, please…” the older professor requested.

 

A portrait emerged from the bag, nearly life sized, and spoke courteously once leaned in a spot where it could take in the room.

 

“Ms. Granger! I had expected someone pale and peaky — yet I see before me a lovely young lady. How is your recovery coming along?” Dumbledore inquired amiably.

“I’m not the patient, sir. Severus is — I mean, _Professor Snape_ is.”

“Hmm…” the portrait replied.

“You’ve been up here forever, 'Mione. What’s going on with him?”

“‘ _Him_ ’, Mr. Potter, is fine. She refuses to leave due to some misguided belief that without her mediocre nursing care I will cease to exist,” Severus Snape announced as he entered the room.

 

Harry inhaled sharply, in preparation for defending the sacrifice Hermione made every day she stayed in Flatley, when the subject herself roared with laughter.

 

“As you can see for yourself, Severus’ biting wit and razor-sharp sarcasm have healed completely. The rest of his carcass requires more time and attention.”

 

This time Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore’s portrait joined in the laughter.

 

_Snape? Laughing???…_

Minerva broke the spell by unclasping her cape in preparation for sitting. McGonagall gave Snape a careful once over before asking after his health.

 

“Tell us, Severus, how have you fared?”

“I’m sure Poppy’s first action on her return from our visits is to report to you, Headmistress.”

“Come now, Severus," Dumbledore chided impishly, "don’t be difficult. You are a unique individual under any circumstances but you are now the only known survivor of an attack by that accursed snake, Nagini. What have the challenges been?”

“Simply put, the wounds themselves are cursed, Albus.”

 

With a deft move he opened his shirt and robe to reveal the barely healed insults.

 

“Well…” Dumbledore spoke with quiet thoughtfulness, “that is to be expected when one is attacked by a horcrux.”

“I suspected as much myself after those vague and life-threatening instructions you gave me.”

“And what have you discovered about the wounds?” Albus inquired, drawn into the topic.

“Nothing we have works for long but in combination some work for a time,” Hermione chimed in, glad to be back into swot-mode. “The wounds themselves were getting smaller when Severus was unconscious and I bathed him in a number of healing potions. We’re trying to isolate what combination will work because they haven’t improved much since he came out of the coma.”

“Does Severus apply the potions exactly as you did?”

“I never noticed. Severus?”

 

Harry and McGonagall observed the interplay between nurse and patient, one in academic interest and the other in utter shock.

 

“No; I am not on my back in bed, I am not humming some inane melody and I am not nude.”

“H-H-Hermione!?” Harry stuttered out.

“Relax, Harry. I had to bathe him during his weeks in a coma. Madame Pomfrey instructed me.”

“I have an interest in discovering new treatments for cursed wounds. Would it be a great imposition if I stayed until Poppy’s next visit and assisted?” Albus politely requested.

“No, Professor Dumbledore, of course not!” and “Yes, you meddlesome old codger!” collided in the center of the small living area.

“Thank you, Ms. Granger," Dumbledore acknowledged — effectively ignoring Snape's denial to the request and subsequent protest, "Minerva, please inform Poppy and have her bring my travel sack to retrieve me when she visits.”

“Gladly, Albus. I shall miss your insights.”

“You’re too kind; I believe you mean you will _not_ miss my interference in your running of the school.”

 

With greetings settled, the three most familiar with Christmas exchanged presents. Unaware that they’d have visitors, Severus sulked at not having presents for them until Hermione needled and teased him back to his normal ascerbic demeanor.

 

“‘Mione, this is for you.”

 

Harry gifted her a pensieve with 100 empty vials.

 

“Thank you, Harry.”

 

Living together on the run, he’d held her during the worst of the nightmares that Ron slept through.

 

Hermione gifted Harry a rare book on Quidditch. As one of the “Golden Trio” and a full time nurse for a secret war hero, Hermione received a pile of galleons every month. She’d made arrangements with Poppy to get the book when Poppy notified her of Harry’s request to spend Christmas together.

Hermione and Minerva exchanged lovely scarves, Minerva’s a silk blend that responded to her moods (and transfigured itself into a cat coat for her animagus form) and Hermione’s a warm woolen blend in Caribbean colors that moved up and down the scarf like a ticker at the Quidditch World Cup.

Minerva gifted Severus his own stash of potion ingredients shrunk to fit into his palm. She rightly guessed his impatience with Hermione’s results — not that they weren’t impressive for a young witch, but Severus had several ideas in mind that he was unwilling to share with Hermione just yet.

Harry brought a complimentary gift to Hermione’s for Snape — two volumes of his mother’s childhood diaries. Each cloth-covered treasury contained writings about her time with Severus when they lived at Spinner’s End. Harry’d found them carefully tucked away, apparently by Sirius, at 12 Grimmauld Place. More volumes awaited scrutiny but these spoke lovingly of her first magical friend. The books had been duplicated magically and Lily's son gifted Snape the originals — so familiar with the smell of the washing powder Lily’s mother used on her dresses. The scent accosted the sensitive nose of the Potions Master to cloud his mind with painful memories of the only happiness he'd known as a child. 

 

“She loved you, Professor…” Harry spoke softly to the odd sight of Severus fighting tears.

“If you’ll excuse us, Severus could do with a rest. We were up late celebrating his first Christmas with friends. Severus?”

 

Caring hands tugged him up and accompanied him as far as the bedroom door before sending him on.

 

“Will he be alright?” Harry queried.

“In a bit. I think it’s all overwhelming, you know? He’s not exactly led a normal life.”

“No, Ms. Granger. He hasn’t. Your observations are, as always, spot on.” Albus added.

“Last night — when I gave him the photos — something similar happened. He’ll come around. Join me in the kitchen? The meal will be ready in an hour.”

 

Lugging Dumbledore’s painting around the corner of the living area, they all enjoyed catching up over drinks and canapés as Hermione completed supper.

 

* * *

  

“Severus?” Hermione called out as she entered their bedroom, “It’s time to eat.”

“Why did you put me through all of this?”

“Excuse me?”

“I was happy with my life. I was settled. I knew who I was.”

“Voldemort’s dead. Your life will have to change.”

“I don’t know this weak, whimpering simp who cries at photographs and diaries written by small girls.”

“When our guests leave, I’ll help you get to know him. Come, please. We’re waiting and supper’s getting cold. I roasted a leg of lamb for you.”

 

He stood and offered his arm to her; they rejoined their friends at the table.

 

* * *

  

“Harry and I will clear up. I’m sure my 'patient' would like to catch up without his nursemaid around.”

“Yes, as I haven’t required a nappy change in ages.”

 

Hermione’s shocked laughter followed Minerva, Snape and Albus’ portrait back into the living area. Harry joined her at the sink, remembering her preference to clean the kitchen by muggle methods.

 

“You okay here with him?”

“Why wouldn’t I be???”

“He’s brave and all… but it _is_ Snape.” 

 

Both chuckled at Harry’s pronouncement.

 

“How bad are your nightmares?”

“Better than they were. Severus gave me a portion to help with the worst of them. It’s here —”

 

Hermione dangled the vial in front of Harry from its chain around her neck.

 

“Can’t get over how chummy you two are.”

“Jealous, Potter?” she teased, bumping him with a shoulder.

“It’s… you look better, Hermione; not all wrung out and scared.”

“It’s still there, Harry. But I’m definitely better than I was. I think that’s what Dumbledore was asking me.”

“Ron asked if I’d, you know, talked to you…”

“Ronald Weasley couldn’t care less about having one less tart shagging his hero arse. He informed me how he’d be spending his time while I cared for Severus. Any ‘little Rons’ yet?”

“What happened between you two?” 

“He doesn’t love me the way I love him. I grew up and he didn’t. He left us, Harry. Carrying that awful locket affected all of us but I stayed with you and you kept going.”

“Well, it _is_ Ron we’re talking about. You know how he gets.”

“Yes, I do. Ron’s lazy. I haven’t forgotten who comforted me when my worst memories of Bellatrix came back.”

“Just think about talking to him. He misses you. I always thought you two would end up together if we lived.”

“So did I, Harry. I love him. But he’s not interested in ’this’ Hermione.”

“I understand.”

“What about you and Ginny? Shagged her yet?”

“Yeah, I did,” he grinned like Lewis Carroll's Cheshire Cat in Wonderland.

“Harry!”

“Married her first, though. Don’t tell McGonagall yet — Hogwarts doesn’t keep married students.”

“Why are you grinning like that? She’s not… Ginny’s pregnant!?” 

 

Hermione barely stopped her squeal.

 

“About two weeks. We’re keeping it quiet — even her mum doesn’t know. By the time Pomfrey checks her out it will be spring term. They won’t bounce her that close to graduation.”

“Congratulations! Are you happy about it?”

“Over the moon. Just wish you and Ron were taking the trip with us.”

“Harry, even if Ron and I get back together I’m not ready to look after any little ones yet. I have a life to reclaim and any number of horrors to forget.”

“Sort of like Snape.”

 

Hermione pondered this as she tucked the last of the silverware away and joined Harry at the small kitchen table. She cast a quick (and wandless) silencing spell around them.

 

“That’s true... Severus lost everything. No position; no mission; no real home. Seeing them together tonight, I wonder if Dumbledore was his only friend. Imagine you’re only companion being a dead man.”

“”Is that why you’ve been here so long? It’s been seven months.”

“Partially. Madame Pomfrey warned me that Severus is still a suicide risk. He can barely process any emotion that isn’t disdain or anger without tears. That’s why I’ve been making a big deal out of Christmas. He reminds me of you —" she remarked, pushing Harry's overgrown fringe to the side in a familiar sign of affection, "— the brilliant wizard mistreated and put upon by life. I marvel at you sometimes, Harry… You didn’t turn into Severus.”

“Found some good friends and the love of my life. Changes everything.”

“I suppose it does. I want that for Severus… There’s also the matter of his wounds. Until those close completely he’s vulnerable to infection. He gave himself a paper cut helping me lay in supplies for the winter and nearly died a month ago. He’s too stubborn to keep the wounds dressed, says the bandages hurt when he moves no matter how I secure them. So we’ll be here a while longer. I’m hoping he and Dumbledore will come up with some miracle. I _will_ miss this place.”

“ _Here_!?”

“Yes! In summer there plenty of sunlight; no darkness to fear. It’s peaceful now, in winter, despite the long nights. I can read all day uninterrupted by the overblown crises of ordinary life. And Severus can be great company. He’s brilliant and you’ve heard that cutting wit he has. We’ve actually gotten a lot done with the research on healing those wounds — although I probably hold him back. He’s introduced me to any number of things in the magical world and he’s used to muggles so some of my strange habits —”

“Like scrubbing the floor on your hands and knees instead of using a spell?”

“Yes, Harry, like that,” she giggled, “don’t bother him in the least. I sleep better here, not always jerking awake waiting for something to attack me… I’m recovering. Maybe that’s why I’m upset with Ron. He never saw how fragile I was when the war ended, why I couldn’t just tear off giving interviews or chasing escaped Death Eaters or shagging like rabbits. I don’t have that pressure here. I promise you, Harry, when Severus is healed I’ll come back and I’ll work on my relationship with Ron. I won’t hide here forever.”

“Good. Because I’m expecting to make you a godparent. The baby’s due in September.”

“I’m really happy for you both. Ginny loves you.”

“Imagine that.”

“You’re being a prat, Potter.”

“Hey! I thought that was Ron!”

 


	7. Chapter 7

”That’s wonderful! Now go about applying the potions as you did when Severus was unconscious, please.”

 

In the cottage bedroom, Severus lay abed as Hermione daubed small amounts of the healing cream on the worst of his wounds from her seated position on the mattress. The potions would be poured into his open wounds next. Albus Dumbledore, in portrait, joined them to observe Hermione’s healing techniques first hand.

 

“I’m not undressing for your amusement, Albus!”

“Scientific inquiry requires sacrifice, Serverus. I’ll go visit my portrait at Number 12 while you disrobe completely.”

 

The former Potions professor glared at Dumbledore as Hermione bit her lower lip to keep in her laughter.

 

“I’ll be in the kitchen preparing lunch. Call me when you’re… _unclothed._ ”

“Oh you are a common witch, aren’t you Ms. Granger?”

“Forgive me, Professor, but I fell in love with your manly form and I swoon every time you reveal it.”

“You are the soul of wi **t** , Hermione.”

 

The “t” in “wit” came out so hard she thought he’d spit out a tooth.

 

“Roast beef and asparagus with Hollandaise for lunch?”

“That will consume the leftovers. What shall I cook for supper?”

“I’ll start a chicken casserole. Professor Dumbledore’s experiment will likely keep you busy; I‘ll handle supper,” she concluded and left for the kitchen.

 

Muttering as he removed layers of clothing, Snape punctuated his dissatisfaction with a final comment to the empty room.

 

“Don’t know why I got dressed this morning…”

__________________________  

 

“What is that melody, Ms. Granger?”

 

Hermione leaned over Severus’ naked form, working the potion mixture into his wounds.

 

“Melody? Oh! I must’ve been humming again. It’s called ‘Love Will Never Do Without You’. My mother loved the song.”

“Do you hum it all the time?”

“When I take care of Severus or make his potions, yes. It helps me concentrate.” 

“Could you sing the words? —”

“Oh, Merlin, could you NOT!” Snape protested.

“Severus…” Albus drawled out as if Snape were a moody adolescent.

“Why do I bother!? Please, by all means — ruin the moment!” Snape groused in defeat.

 

Hermione smiled indulgently at her mercurial patient, applied a liberal dose of the potion to his wounds and began massaging it in while she sang.

  

> “ _Our friends think we’re opposites_
> 
> _Falling in and out of love_
> 
> _They all think we wouldn’t last_
> 
> _Still we manage to stay together…”_
> 
> [“Love Will Never Do” - Janet Jackson]

 

“What an interesting result! Look at your wounds, Severus.”

 

Dumbledore’s command riveted Hermione's attention to Snape’s torso where the corners of his cursed wounds were closing, with agonizing effort, while they stared. Along the still-open injuries, a healthier color tinged the edges and the swelling subsided noticeably.

 

“ _Uther's randy_ _rod_!” the injured man swore, unprepared for the change — and Hermione howled in mirth.

“Severus, there’s a lady present…” Albus reminded him.

“I spent a year on the run with Harry and Ron, Professor; I’ve heard worse.”

“Hermione, I think it wise that Severus remain with me until we determine if the improvement is permanent. Could you serve his lunch in here, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble?”

“Will 15 minutes do for the conversation you don’t want me to hear?”

 

Both men — corporeal and painted — stared at her, acknowledging the transparency of their deceit.

 

“I should say 30 will suffice.”

“Thirty it is, then.” and with a throaty chuckle she left, closing the door behind her.

 __________________________

 

“This is serious…”

 

Both wizards stared at the rapidly healed portions of Severus’ injuries as Severus cast a non-verbal silencing charm.

 

“How did this happen? Albus, I swear to you — I’ve done _nothing_!”

“I believe you, Severus, but the proof is written on your body. I suppose it is possible the isolation did this… or that most unusual melody… She’s unknowingly created some kind of ‘spell’ that affects your recuperation. And the words in that song… Almost a spell in and of themselves…”

“There has to be something you can do, something you must **know** … I cannot **_do_** this to her!”

“Her heart has done this to you both. I understand your recovery now. She’s given you a gift, much like that Lily gave Harry. She cared for you at your most vulnerable; devoted herself to your well-being for these months. I’m afraid she’s created a magical bond with you”

“But she isn’t **_in_** love with me! I will **not** use her to benefit myself! I can stay here quite comfortably for whatever time remains to me. She should return to the world — I have pleaded with the stubborn witch to do so!”

“I would agree with you, Severus, if you did not love her — and you are in love with her. Minerva and I remarked on it after that wonderful Christmas we all shared.”

“She’s not yet 19, for Merlin's sake!”

“And you are nowhere near your own dotage at 38, my friend. I note you haven’t denied your feelings for her.”

“Merlin forgive me; she’s the first woman to understand me, my love for Lily — but she’s a _child_!”

“I disagree. Hermione Granger may never have been a child in the sense that you mean. She’s as responsible for Voldemort’s defeat as Harry. Her maturity causes her pain; she sees that the end is not so close as vanquishing the Dark Lord should have made it. Her friends do not understand this yet. Of all the wizards I’ve known, I doubt that any would understand her — and understand the pain she will carry for some time — better than you, Severus.”

“She’s promised to Weasley. Even a blind skrewt can see she loves him.”

“I think that you would do well to focus on her feelings for you. You understand what this means.”

“Either I deepen this bond and let the ancient magic heal me completely —”

“— or you consign yourself and Ms. Granger to death. She will survive you by minutes, maybe a day if Poppy has adequate warning.”

“I cannot **do** this to her. She cared for me out of **_kindness_**. I have no great love for my own life — I will not seduce her for my own benefit. I am neither a cad nor a pervert.”

“I have not suggested such, and I remind you she is more than a year past the legal age. But she **will** die from your wounds as surely as if Nagini attacked her.”

“What must I do to protect her!?”

“You must court her. If she gives herself to you freely, you will heal and she will live.”

 

A quiet knock swiveled Snape’s head as the woman in question entered with his meal.

 

“What did I miss?”

 

* * *

 

“Severus, these wounds look wonderful!”

 

Two days after the “experiment”, Poppy Pomfrey poked a finger into the healing but still tender flesh near the main snake bites.

 

“They will not continue to do so if you insist on jabbing that skeletal finger of yours into my tender flesh. Have a care, Poppy!”

“Another month, maybe two, and you’ll be ready to return to Hogwarts. Here’s an incentive: Minerva mentioned you for the Defense Against the Dark Arts class now that the Dark Lord’s curse has been lifted. And Ms. Granger —” Poppy added, directing her no-nonsense gaze at Hermione.

 

Hermione broke away from her cleaning up after Severus’ examination.

 

“Yes, Madame?”

“Minerva has seen fit to use your spell and potion work with Severus for your N.E.W.Ts — all ‘Outstandings’. You’ll have to complete your exams in Transfiguration, Arithmancy, Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures but when you do, I’d like to offer you an apprenticeship as a Healer. You have talent.”

 

The healer repacked her bag after removing a small, black sack.

 

“Ready, Albus?”

“I am, Poppy. Hermione, Severus — thank you for accommodating me.”

“Happy to have you with us, Professor Dumbledore. I’m sure Severus benefited from your knowledge — those wounds are finally making some progress.”

“I wouldn’t assume he ‘benefited' me quite yet.”

 

Dumbledore and Hermione enjoyed a final laugh together at Severus’ dour expression. He’d reverted to silence and snippy retorts since the success of the portrait's experiment.

 

“Ms. Granger, your assistance, please.” Madame Pomfrey requested in her stern voice.

 

After tipping, lifting and shoving, this version of Albus Dumbledore fit neatly into his carrying case.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

”Should I prepare for any surprises on New Year’s Eve?”

 

Snape never looked up from his reading while delivering his sardonic question.

 

“I thought we’d keep it small, just the two of us. You’ve healed so well we may be leaving soon.”

“I’m sure you will be relieved to be away from such taciturn company.”

“Severus, it’s peaceful here and you’ve been brilliant company when you were conscious. You will not get me to say I’ve hated being here and want to run back to England. I’m not looking forward to what awaits me there. Harry sent word I’ll have to testify against a number of defendants at the Wizengamot. So if it’s all the same _to_ you, I’d rather enjoy the time we have left _with_ you.”

“I’ve never celebrated the holiday.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“For your information, I have for years attended the Druid Winter Solstice ritual in Northern England. Their traditions hold more closely to the original new year celebrations.”

“How so?”

“To ensure a prosperous new year, the head Druid lays with a virgin every midnight for a lunar month starting at the solstice then sacrifices her if she doesn't conceive.”

“That’s barbaric! What happens if she conceives?”

“The Druids take the child at its birth to raise as a Druid and sacrifice someone else.”

“Ughhh… Thank you for not inviting me to _that_ celebration.”

“Without knowing the state of your sexual experience, I might have accidentally ‘donated’ my nurse for the ritual.”

 

Barking laughter accompanied her exit to the kitchen.

 

“We have roast pork," Hermione called out from her place at the open cooler, "several squab and two steaks.”

“I inquired and the inn in town will be serving supper for the locals. I’d like to take you if you’d like to go.”

“Is this a ‘date’?” she teased.

“I. Don’t. Date.”

“Explains a lot. Yes, I’d love to go but I have nothing appropriate to wear.”

“You have clothing in the wardrobe. Pick something and put it on.”

“No. If you’re taking me out to dine I intend to look the part. It may be our last time out together.”

“You're a witch; transfigure something. And it will be our _first_ time out together.”

“Don’t quibble. How late will we be out?”

“ _Why_???”

“There’ll be a beautiful aurora borealis that night but I want to watch it from our porch.”

“I will ensure we return well before the astronomical event.”

 

_____________________

 

The thumping sound on the porch on New Year's Eve brought Severus' wand up as he approached the door. A package lay there with the unmistakable seal of the dead Albus Dumbledore.

 

 _Death has only increased his interference in my life…_ Snape sighed mentally.

 

Retreating back into the cottage, Snape set the package on the low sofa table and charmed away its wrappings. Two exquisite vintages revealed  themselves, one with a card attached.

 

> “ _Severus,_
> 
> _I remember these as two of your favorites from my cellars. I’m sure Ms. Granger would appreciate an introduction to this guilty pleasure. Enjoy your evening and give the chef my compliments — I recommend the venison steaks; they are beyond description._
> 
> _Regards, Albus_ ”

 

The (former) dark wizard flicked his wand to test the contents of the first bottle, a deep red wine he’d loved for years. Sure enough, twinkling lights appeared in the liquid. Albus — or one of his many accomplices — had loaded the wine down with some kind of love potion.

 

 _Nosy interloper…_ the suspicious (former) potions professor muttered.

 

A more physical wand flick flew the vintage into the fireplace where the fire fought the liquid's dampness until it won.

 

“What was that?” his companion inquired as she entered from their bedroom, still inserting her earring.

“Wine. Apparently mishandled during delivery; it went sour,” her (almost former) patient answered in partial truth, his attention still aimed at the hearth that held the source of his irritation. Repeating the spell, the second bottle tested “clean”. Severus uncorked it and poured the merlot into two short-stemmed glasses.

“I’m ready. I hope you haven’t been waiting too long.”

 

That statement broke through his contemplation of how to punish a dead man.

 

“You are _breathtaking_ …”

“Thank you,” she blushed.

 

He stared so long his nurse fidgeted. Severus gave no clue to their destination; Hermione’d had to guess at what attire would suffice.

 

“Is the dress appropriate?” she nervously posed in response to his insistent gaze.

“I believe I described you as ‘breathtaking’,” he replied, handing her the glass in his left hand, “I am allowed to savor the view, am I not? Or is the true beneficiary of this ensemble sitting impatiently at the restaurant?”

 

A quarter-minute later she smiled, having untangled his subtle sarcasm.

 

“No, Severus, you’re my ‘date’ tonight,” she needled, taking a long sip of the wine.

 

“I. Don’t. Date.”

 

Extending an arm, he levitated their glasses to the table, wrapped her in his warmer cloak and apparated them to their destination.

 

* * *

 

“Compliments of the house, sir.” came to them in French.

 

The Maitre de Maison extended an expensive and rare bottle of champagne towards Snape. After a quick glance, Hermione’s escort nodded.

 

“Please extend my appreciation to the chef for such an erudite choice.”

“The chef also extends his compliments to the lady. Seldom has someone so beautiful graced our establishment,” came in English.

 

Severus smiled on the inside as a full blush made its way up from the décolletage of Hermione's dress to her subtly made up face. She’d let her hair grow (pulling it into one long braid most days). As a gift for her efforts as his caretaker, he’d created a potion to loosen her tightly-curled locks and received an energetic thank you of hugs when she used it the first time. Tonight she’d applied the product liberally so her hair fell in loose curls down her exposed back. A single silver barrette pulled the hair framing her face back into a low ponytail.

 _So little awareness of her own beauty…_  her escort observed then clamped down **tightly** on that part of his brain. Their situation remained dangerous for her; he’d find a way to free the unsuspecting witch once they returned to civilization. Tonight would be his farewell and thanks to Hermione Granger.

The sweet sparkling wine, a “blanc de blanc doux”, delighted her. She consumed one tall flute-worth and was well into her second as they perused the menu offerings.

 

“I’m overwhelmed,” she admitted, chuckling into her wine, “Everything looks wonderful.”

“With your permission, then, I will order for both of us.”

“Thank you.”

 

Dreamy, wine-heavy eyes took in his confident handling of their order. In French.

 

“When did you learn French?”

“A potion I invented — Lingua Franca. It provides translation and speaking skills.”

“Impressive, Professor. And your knowledge of gourmet dishes?”

 

She’d been teasing but regretted her question when his expression darkened. 

 

“I’ve spent most of my life among wealthy and aristocratic Death Eaters. Like you, Hermione, I’ve always been a rapt student, curious and acquisitive.”

 

Impulsively she laid her hand over his on the table, massaging the tension away with her thumb. His heart rate tripled while they touched.

 

“I meant you impressed me. Everything about tonight has been wonderful and it’s just beginning.”

“You’ve sacrificed almost a year of your life to repair me,” he replied with more than a hint of apology for his inconveniencing of her.

“And I’ve gained more than I’ve given. Don’t think," she laughed, "I don’t know you’ve been sneaking upstairs to the workshop for months to do your own potions work without my mistakes and constant questions.”

“I’ve taken no healing potion that wasn’t made by your hands.”

 

 _That_ thought startled him for an instant. Was that how she’d inadvertently created the bonding spell — after all, what was a spell but a collection of words and a magical act? He’d need to discuss it with Dumbledore who, though dead, remained the one of the most brilliant potions masters in the wizarding world.

 

“Severus?”

“Nothing. An idea to strengthen a potion came to mind. Your ‘intrusions’ tend to be my best inspirations of late.”

“Glad to be of service, Professor.”

“Please, call me Severus — at least until we return to Hogwarts.”

“So _Severus_ ," she drawled, spreading his name across several spoken syllables, "what did you order for us tonight?”

He cleared his throat to distract her from his covert attempt to adjust his trousers.

“For hors d’œuvres we’re having ‘Noix de Saint-Jacques Gratinées à la Persillade’, halved sea scallops braised in garlic-infused parsley butter and…”

 

* * *

  

“Let’s get you inside. It’s -20 on this porch.”

“Did you see the colors!?” Hermione squealed like a four-year-old at the museum for the first time.

“Hermione, you’re a witch — one of the most brilliant of your or any generation. While I will admit that the natural display has some appeal, you’ve seen more vivid pageantry at the Quidditch World Cup.”

“Maybe the company here made it special.”

“Maybe someone had one too many flutes of very expensive sparkling wine.”

“I don’t care — I can’t remember a better time, not even the Yule Ball.  And we haven’t finished the red wine.”

 

Stepping out of her shoes, the witch padded gracefully over to the couch and curled up in a corner, her legs tucked demurely underneath her. Leaning forward, she retrieved the glass with her lipstick still painting the rim and resumed her sipping.

 

“Where did you get the wine, by the way?”

“Albus 'gifted' it to us in commemoration of the approaching new year.”

 

Hermione chose to misread the annoyance laced in his answer; the evening had been perfect so far and she had no intentions of changing its direction. A shiver moved through her as she rested the empty wine glass back on the sofa table.

 

“You are cold?”

“A bit. But I’m too relaxed to move.”

 

The quilt from his bed floated out and draped itself around her. Snape watched her through the quiet and noted her continued shivering under the quilt. In an instant a magically-conjured fire blazed in the hearth. Her chills persisted.

 

“Sit next to me," he offered, "until your chills have passed.”

 

The recuperating man couldn’t be blamed for his sharp intake of breath when Hermione landed, covered in quilt, in his lap.

 

“ _Hermione!_ …”

“This is sooo much better.”

 

She stretched, extending her legs across his lap, and her soft bottom grazed his trouser buttons.

 

“Hermione, this is _highly_ irregular…”

 

The wine and the woman in his lap had him light-headed.

 

 _Did that old busybody slip something by me?…_ fleetingly traipsed through Snape's murky thinking.

 

“I’m cold, Severus, and I’m fully clothed. I promise — if you grant me this one indulgence I’ll go to bed like a good girl when I feel warmer.”

 

She hid her grin at the scowl on his face before adding the final inducement.

 

“Please?”

 

A resigned sigh communicated his defeat.

 

_She’s not a Legilimens, thank Merlin…_

 

“How are your N.E.W.T. studies going?”

 

School usually roused her energies and telescoped her attention; Severus sincerely hoped it would focus his own thoughts away from the witch curled against him with her head laid on his shirt over his healing chest.

 

“Satisfactory,” she answered with no enthusiasm, “I received  ‘Outstadings’ in Transfigurations and Arithmancy.”

 

She hadn’t left the cottage since Poppy’s offer of employment.

 

“When?”

“Sorry… forgot to tell you. Harry petitioned Professor McGonagall on my behalf. Apparently he provided her a pensieve of his testimony to the Wizengamot then had a talk with her. The teachers voted to pass me.”

“You must be pleased, not that you’re unused to superior grades. I’m sure that clumsy oaf Hagrid will assign you a similar grade. Herbology has never been a particularly challenging class for you.”

“No…”

“Hermione, what is troubling you?”

“I’m not ready…” she murmured, burrowing into his body as her unwelcome fear of the future took hold.

“Not ready for what? To take your Herbology N.E.W.T.? I sincerely doubt that. Your texts cover my work surface upstairs in the workshop. Or is it Poppy’s offer you’re unsure of?”

“All of it.”

“Let’s get you sorted out then. Where will you live?”

“Hogwarts, I would imagine. At least until I finish my N.E.W.Ts. Then my parent’s place. I still have to locate them in Australia and restore their memories. They’ll think me a horrid daughter once they realize what I’ve done to them.”

 

Tears dampened his only dress shirt.

 

“Use that brain, woman! Delay any action until the worst of Voldemort’s followers have been incarcerated in Azkhaban. Collect Muggle news source materials — I can provide the Prophet — and calmly show them what happened to the magical and Muggle communities during the war. I’m sure Potter would relish the opportunity to regale them with his exploits.”

“Ron’s more inclined to do that than Harry. Harry’s more an ‘Evans’ than a ‘Potter’.” Hermione chuckled.

“You may be correct…”

“I’m not ready to go back and face it all. The press, school, what kind of employment to take, what to do with my life, Ron…”

“You are betrothed.”

“We _were_ a couple. I’m not sure what we are now…”

 

_Merlin, grant me this: Pray let her be happy with him; let him love her as she deserves… as I would love her…_

 

Sparks like stars unexpectedly danced in the flames of the hearth then died down suddenly, reducing the fire and its heat . The panicked man, with the beautiful and sad witch in his lap, repeatedly struggled and failed to get the blaze back to its former size and warmth — which had the undesired effect of increasing Hermione's snuggle into his body for warmth and comfort.

 

“I can’t remember when I didn’t love Ron, or at least like him. I’m not certain who he is anymore. Not sure who _I_ am some days. He fought with me about you; he didn’t think I should care for you.”

“Weasley’s smarter than his magical skills would indicate if he realized that you, consigned to a remote cottage with me, could cause issues.”

“It wasn’t just jealousy. More like… control? He informed me he intended to catch up on his shagging while I was gone.”

“Sounds like Weasley. I suspect, given his low intelligence, that his response came from a bruised male ego. Potter seems to have managed rather well with Weasley’s much smarter sister.”

“They’re married. Have been since September or October.”

“Now Hogwarts will have the spawn of Harry Potter running around. I’ll have to thank Albus for my role in this.”

 

The word “spawn” triggered an association in her subconscious.

 

“Severus, was it you who found Harry that night?”

 

Nestled under the quilt she missed the blank stare and the unshed tears.

 

“You really are the brightest witch of your generation. Yes, I did…”

“You found Lily, too…”

 

His nod tapped his chin into the top of her head twice.

 

“Hermione… if you love Weasley, tell him. I only found my courage as Lily lay dead in my arms. Tell him while you can.”

“Ginny’s pregnant.”

“The school has been informed?”

“No.”

“I will make a point of forgetting I know this."

“Severus?”

“Yes?”

“What’s it like to make love?”

“Look at the time!" tumbled from his mouth as he tried to rise without her cooperation. "Off to bed with you.” .

“No! Answer me first.”

“Wouldn’t Mr. Weasley’s answer be more… desirable?” he pleaded, hopeful she'd relent and seek out Molly's least competent son.

“Shagging is just sex.”

“Why would you think I have that knowledge?”

“I don’t know… You’re _very_ passionate. You try to hide it but it’s there. You’ve loved Lily Evans for a lifetime. Even if you haven’t ‘done’ it, you’ve thought about it. We’re similar that way…”

“I would suggest that the experience will provide more accurate feedback than anything I could tell you. I’m flattered you consider me a font of information on ‘hot sex’.”

“I’m not interested in sex; I’m interested in love. I’m afraid…”

“You needn’t be. I’m sure Mr. Weasley will perform adequately without harming you,” he tried to soothe her while attempting once more to rise from the sofa.

“That’s not what I meant," she corrected, still resisting his efforts to remove her from his lap. "The first time should be special… memorable... I'm afraid I’ll be disappointed.”

“You are a **_virgin_**?” escaped in his shock at her revelation.

“You don’t have to say it _that_ way. I’m not saving myself for the Druid Winter Solstice. I want whoever I’m with to love me, not shag me.”

 

The fire flared again, twinkling embers dancing across the tips of the flames in a showy display reminiscent of the aurora borealis. As the blaze bewitched him, Severus experienced a sudden calm seldom possible without potions. 

 

* * *

 

Her yip, when he rose with her in his arms, broke the silence. After hours of disobedience, the hearth finally responded to the barrage of spells he’d cast, flaring twice its intensity with each of his steps towards their bedroom.

Laying her on his bed, Severus removed his robes and shirt with shaking hands, leaving his pants and socks on. His injuries seemed insignificant in the dimmed moonlight.

 

“Are you sure?” he checked, in a husky whisper.

“Merlin, yes! I want to know.”

“Do you trust me?” he asked as he climbed next to her on the bed.

 

The left strap of her dress slid down her shoulder under his direction, followed by the right. Sliding an arm underneath her shoulders, he rolled her towards him momentarily and coaxed the bodice towards her waist.

 

“Yes.”

“Sex is about the body, the rut; making love is about the heart and the mind…”

 

Severus combed her tresses in his hands, teasing her scalp with barely-there caresses from hands much softer than Hermione had expected. The sensation beguiled her, suffusing her with calm and excitement simultaneously.

 

“You are designed to take time to reach emotional and physical pleasure. In this way, you draw out the experience so you and your partner both experience fulfillment. Love-making is never hurried or haphazard, Hermione; it is the deliberate seeking of your partner’s satisfaction.”

 

Lifting the hem of her dress to her thighs, he skimmed his hand just above her skin — from her calf to where her dress now lay, eliciting shivers throughout her body. She uncrossed her ankles to improve his access to the tender flesh between her legs; his hand followed to this newly accessible area. 

Hermione struggled to process the conflicting imperatives her malfunctioning nervous system commanded. She felt compelled to move, to arch towards him, to squirm at the sheer intensity of stimulus galloping up and down her body’s electrical system. Yet her confused brain demanded she stay still lest the attentions that brought so much pleasure be interrupted or stopped.

 

“If you’re uncomfortable  or unwilling at any time, tell me and I will stop. It’s your right to say ‘No’.”

 

These words floated on warm, humid breath near her earlobe and down her neck in kisses that saw more and more of his mouth on her skin. Reaching the junction of her neck and shoulder, his tongue outlined some shape — that she no longer had the ability to recognize or analyze — into her flesh. 

Combined with his stroking hand that continued its excellent work, Hermione reached a state she’d never known: she couldn’t _think_. Severus’ steady, unhurried stimulation focused every circuit in her head on savoring his skills and anticipating more of the same.

 

“Never settle, Hermione. Your partner should place your pleasure above his own. He should be tender and attentive at all times.”

 

The hand that made love to her legs glided upward and applied slightly stronger strokes to her stomach as it lay underneath the fabric of her dress. His touch did not aggrevate the wounds she carried, evidence of the cruelty she’d endured at Malfoy Manor. Quite the opposite, his loving, tender deliberations soothed an area never free from discomfort since the torture.

 

“You are a beautiful witch, Hermione. You deserve a partner who will worship your body, mind and heart. The secret in making love to you lies in the worship, the fascination in discovering all the things that make the experience exquisitely pleasurable for you.”

 

In an area he hadn’t touched on her, liquids of life flowed freely powered by muscles motivated to expand and contract rhythmically to the pulse of his tongue inside the gentle suction his mouth applied to her neck. In a place she’d never paid more than cursory heed to once a month, feelings emanated that sought a specific path to an unknown terminus.  

 

“Your breasts are exquisite but should not be a focus. Your lips, your neck, your ears are all sensuous targets. Time should be taken to explore these.”

 

Moaning became her only means of communications as his mouth suckled at her throat and scorched a path down to the parts of her flesh exposed above the strapless bra. Occasionally, instinct pushed her to touch him, which he allowed so long as she avoided his nether region.

 

“I will not penetrate you; that remains yours to give to the man you gift as your first.”

 

Some kind of release had to come; her body demanded it. Her hands communicated her willingness to go where he pushed her as they combed his nape or sensuously slipped down the sides of his clean-shaven cheeks. 

 

“Severus, don’t stop, _please_!”

 

To satisfy her need for more, his tongue added additional impetus to drive her mind and body towards the ecstasy he desired for her. Fire descended upon her from his incendiary tongue inside the mint-cool feel of his lips.

 

“Hermione, I care for you too much to take that which I know is not mine. I cherish you and your trust in me. I would that it were my privilege to have you completely. If you are truly loved by your partner, he will protect you. Potions are not as reliable as the charm.

 

Both recognized how close she was _and all he’d done was kiss her and lavish tender, almost chaste, touches on her skin._

 

“When he enters you, you will feel some pressure and some pain as he breaks through your maiden’s head. If he has been patient, taken his time to prepare you, the discomfort will be momentary; if he has not, you will feel pain for some time.”

 

Hermione’s fluttering eyelids shot open as the tension broke and ecstasy took hold. Bliss flooded her nervous system, causing her to arch towards the source of her pleasure and hold on for dear life. She would have screamed Severus’ name if she could speak.

 

“Let no man under-appreciate you; you should be honored and loved by his words, his kiss, his touch, his actions.”

 

Severus rolled her closer, slowing and lightening his touch, bringing her back in unhurried, methodical steps. He stared at her in a new way, intensely experiencing her pleasure as his own. 

 

If Merlin was merciful, she would never forget what joining could be with a man who loved her.

 

“He should love you.”

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

“Hermione! _**Wait up**_!”

“Hello, Ron.”

 

Ron's "girlfriend" had been avoiding this encounter since her return fourteen days ago. The Ministry tapped Hogwarts to host an Aurors' information exchange and tactics conference during the four-week Easter break starting in late February.

 

“Harry tell you we’re here — at the meeting?”

“He mentioned you both might attend.”

“We’re bloody _celebrities_ — more experience fighting dark wizards than that sorry lot of them Ministry Aurors combined. You’re on the agenda for next week.”

 

McGonagall informed her of this unsought obligation while Hermione helped Severus resettle in the Slytherin dungeons. Patient and nurse hadn’t seen each other, except in passing, since that day. She’d been consumed by press events, Wizengamot testimony, charity visits to survivors at St. Mungo’s and Ministry debriefs. The debriefs often focused on her post-war disappearance and her “secret” research into cures for cursed injuries. Any question seeking the names of her patients or colleagues met with polite but firm evasion; Hermione would not sacrifice Severus’ safety to assuage the Ministry’s paranoia and avarice. After hours of questioning by a number of departments over days and days, Kingsley Shacklebolt “took over” her debriefs; unfortunately, the kinder, gentler "conversations" consumed more of her time.

 

“I’ll be discussing protective charms,” she explained, shaking herself from reverie.

“Yeah, you did a brilliant job with those. Until those snatchers caught us — but nobody’s perfect, eh?”

“If you’ll excuse me, Ron, I have N.E.W.Ts to study for.”

“You’re living _here_?”

 

She hadn’t meant to reveal that.

 

“Yes. Where are you staying?”

“Harry and I got assigned the Gryffindor Head Girl’s and Boy’s quarters.”

 

She made a mental note to avoid all corridors that passed by that hallway. She’d apologize to Harry later.

 

“Haven’t seen you in the Great Hall.”

“I normally take my meals in my quarters. I’m still getting used to all the commotion and stress.”

“Let’s have dinner together — you, me, Harry and Ginny — in our place. I’ll get the house elves to set us up. It’s Friday; no working tomorrow.”

 

The "Brightest Witch of her Age" had trapped herself. Knowing they needed to talk hadn’t reduced her anxiety about being around him.

 

 _Maybe I can do this with Harry and Ginny there…_ she hoped.

 

“Alright. What time?”

“Say, 7:00?”

“See you then.”

 

Her departure met with resistance. Ron grabbed her roughly and pressed a kiss on her. She ached where his arms held her too tightly, aggravating her wounds from the torture. Rather than fight, though, she surrendered — reasoning that Ron would relearn her body as they spent time together.

 

“Blimey, Hermione — you could at least act like you enjoyed it. Don’t be late for dinner.”

 

Having delivered his final instruction to her he jogged away, hailing someone from the conference down the long, nearly empty corridor.

 

* * *

 

The absence of Harry and Ginny should have alerted her. A year of listening to her instincts had been dulled by months of healing and peace and sleep without nightmares.

 

“Hey! Always on time.”

“Thank you. Where’s Harry? I have something for him.”

“He and Gin decided to eat in Hogsmead. That’ll make it perfect for us. Have a sit down.”

 

In front of the couch in the Commons area, a table had been arrayed with two place settings for expected guest.

Dinner came with snaps of Ron’s fingers and brusque instructions to the Hogwarts house elves. Glass after glass of butter beer and sparkling wine were poured as Ron recounted his exploits and conquests during her absence. After the table disappeared, Ron conjured a fire — with much effort — to knock the chill off the room and began his seduction of the woman he considered his.

Small talk gave way fairly quickly to kisses initiated by the ginger war hero.

 

“Ron, we’ve been separated almost a year. We have a great deal to discuss.”

“Like what? You’ve been stuck in the woods with Professor Bat. Nothing worth talking about there.”

“Don’t call him that, please! At least respect what he did for the Order.”

 “I guess the old Death Eater did some pretty dicey things to keep himself alive after he switched to the proper side. But if he hadn’t been barking mad dark in the first place he’d never had to switch. I mean, it wasn’t like Harry’s mother would ever give Old Hooked Nose the time of day anyway.”

“Ron, that’s unkind and I won’t listen to any more of it!”

“I’m sorry, ‘Mione, I’m sorry,” came tumbling out of his mouth, “It’s just hard thinking about you stuck up there fixing him up when we should have been getting on.”

 

The kissing started again in earnest, accompanied by apologies and revelations about seizing the moment after the war. His insistence that no day was promised battered at her reserves until she found herself kissing him back. More experienced than Hermione, Ron took liberties with her body. His rough handling of her breast triggered small yelps of discomfort which Ron mistook for arousal. Hermione separated them when Ron reached inside her blouse and released the clasp on her bra.

 

“I’m not ready…”

“Come on, Hermione. It’s been two years. I know you love me and I’m trying to show you that I love you.”

“I’m… It still hurts… Where Bellatrix tortured me, the skin is very sensitive.”

 

The memory of torture stayed his escalating efforts.

 

“I’m sorry. Let me put this back —” he said, reaching under her blouse again in hopes of persuading her.

“I need to use the loo. I’ll take care of it.”

 

With a quick move, Hermione rose and ascended the stairs into what she hoped was Harry’s room. Ron met her just outside the door when she exited, satisfying himself with slobbering over her as he pinned her against the wall. Harry’s noisy return to their temporary sleeping quarters saved her. Their mutual friend bid hasty goodbyes to both wizards and strode briskly towards the exit. As she left for her own quarters, she overheard the brief interchange between Harry and and his best mate.

 

“I thought you and Gin were settled elsewhere for the night.”

“Ginny’s not feeling well so we packed it in early.”

“Next time give some warning. Hermione and I were getting reacquainted, if you get my meaning.”

“Ron, don’t be a git. Talk to her; she’s been through a lot.

“Bloody easy for you to say, mate. You’re shagging my sister every chance you get. It’s been two years with us and I haven’t been close to getting in 'Mione's knickers. I’d be blue all over right now without those shagging angels of mercy out there in the world.”

 

Neither heard the painting close behind Ron's "guest".

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

“Ms. Granger…”

 

Professor Snape and Hermione Granger found themselves in the same corridor only days after her disquieting reunion with Ron. With the students gone, their voices echoed in the empty passageway.

 

“Professor…”

“How has your transition back to this reality been?”

“Chaotic and overwhelming, actually…”

“May I be of help?” he asked, dark eyes shielding his recognition of the emotions leaking through their bond.

“No. I’ve been so busy I haven’t checked to see how you are. Impolite of me. I’m sorry.”

“The catchphrase returns. I am a competent potions master, Ms. Granger. When I use the last of your healing draughts, I’m sure I’ll succeed in following Poppy Pomfrey’s overly complicated recipe.”

 

The corner of his mouth quirked; she smiled at his teasing and he sensed her appreciation for this small return to their former closeness.

 

“And you? Have you and Mr. Weasley reconciled? Should I expect an announcement soon?”

 

Her expression confused him, unreadable but clearly not pleased. The bond went suddenly silent on her end.

 

“We’re… working on it. It will take time.”

“Time I hope he will grant you. Good day, Ms. Granger,” and with that closing, he turned sharply to leave — his instructor's robe billowing like bat wings as he strode quickly away from her. Acute hearing brought her farewell to him on an echo.

 

“Good bye, Severus.”

__________________________

 

“Tell me again — **_why_** are you here, Albus?” Snape asked without looking up from the his notes, scattered rather haphazardly for the fastidious researcher.

“Minerva thought I might be of assistance in your pursuit,” the portrait (now hanging over the  _only_ potions worktable in Snape's rooms) replied conversationally.

“I will make it a point to express my gratitude when I see the Headmistress,” Snape retorted in annoyance, prompting laughter from the painted former Headmaster.

“Finding a dissolution potion for a magical bond has proven elusive in the past. If you are successful, you will be considered the most brilliant potions master of the millennia.”

“How **_will_** I handle the paparazzi? Should I hire a muggle publicist?”

“If not for glory, why else would you risk certain death to break your bond with Ms. Granger?”

“Because I choose to live my life as it was.”

“You choose, Severus," Albus' likeness corrected, "to punish yourself with loneliness to atone for Lily, for not _saving_ her. For not  dying instead of her.”

 

Dumbledore's most loyal friend stared up at the portrait, deep in thought.

 

“Lily has forgiven you and would not consider your feelings for Hermione a betrayal," the dead wizard reminded Severus gently. "You were, after all, Lily’s first and oldest magical friend.

 

The only Slytherin in the Order lowered his head back to his notes to avoid the truth-revealing look the dead headmaster aimed at him.

 

* * *

 

“Ms. Granger — are you in pain?”

“No, Professor. I’ve overexerted myself. I’m… sore.”

 

Delivering an update on his own continuing recovery, Snape bumped into her in the hallway outside of the medical wing where she worked part time. In the weeks since his return his wounds regressed; some had reopened and were seeping unabated. Poppy Pomfrey always scheduled his examinations during Hermione’s days off, at Dumbledore’s request. Limited communications between the potions professor and his former nursemaid kept Severus ignorant of her life as she lived it now; today wasn’t normally Hermione’s work day.

 

“Let me help you…”

 

In the warm spring weather that returned with the students, Hermione covered herself with long, loose-fitting pants and a long-sleeved floppy jumper with a hood. Her hair covered her ears but a small section of her neck (near her collarbone) exhibited unusual discoloration.

 

She jerked away when she realized where his attentions lay.

 

“Nothing to concern yourself with, Professor," she spoke — too quickly for him to miss her embarrassment through the bond. "Thank you, though.”

 

Severus retreated as if burned and watched her make her way gingerly to Madame Pomfrey’s office, every step evoking a sharp intake of breath or a hushed moan.

 

“I’m available if you need me, Ms. Granger. It is the least I can do,” he sent with her, knowing without doubt that she would ignore him.

 

__________________________

 

“Slow down, Albus, for Merlin’s sake! Nothing you say makes any sense! Take me through it again — slower this time. What is the basis for primal magic, ancient magic, whatever you choose to call it? Where does it come from and why does it work? How does it affect this bond I share with Hermione?”

“With your encyclopedic knowledge, I am quite taken by your ignorance in this area. You never studied this?”

 

The old romantic hadn't missed Snape's unconscious use of Ms. Granger's first name — after weeks of careful avoidance of the name and the young woman. Snape scowled at the mischievous expression on Dumbledore’s face and answered through clenched teeth.

 

“Not all of us had time break into the 'Restricted' section during our attendance at Hogwarts.”

“But you’ve had access since you were first appointed to our faculty. You’re normally so inquisitive —”

“Albus…” Snape growled.

“Yes. Let’s rectify your knowledge gap. You know, of course, of the theory that all muggles are conceived with magic but that some aspect of their gestation either allows their inherent magic to develop as the baby develops inside its mother or terminates that magical ability in utero.”

“What, in Merlin’s balls, does this have to do with understanding the bond between Hermione and myself?”

“The theory further states," Dumbledore lectured on without acknowledgment of Snape's interruption or impatience, "that this difference can be attributed to how a child is loved and nurtured in its mother’s womb. Most mothers love their babies long before the child is born —”

 

Snape scoffed at this with a grunt.

 

“As I was saying, most mothers love their babies before birth. But when parents go beyond the expected — when they have a powerful love for that child, something _special_ is created and channeled to their yet-to-be-born offspring.”

“With all due respect — you’re daft, Albus. My parents barely tolerated each other and I held my own with Voldemort, one the most powerful _Legilimens_ in magical history. His horcrux of a snake did not kill me.”

“Your mother was a witch, a powerful one if I recall. And I am speaking of the creation of the first magical beings. The theory posits that the first magical beings gained their magic from love.”

“Even if I believed that mawkish explanation — which I don’t — it doesn’t explain Her-… Ms. Granger’s bond to me. She doesn’t love me and I am not her infant.”

“Must you be obtuse, Severus? What is your patronus?”

“A doe…”

“A doe. The same as Lily Evans. She loved you as a dear friend.”

“And nothing more…” Severus murmured in painful memory.

“No. Yet she held you close to her heart. Defended you. Spent time with you even though your Death Eater friends treated her abominably. I recall they hurled the term ‘mudblood’ at her during your times together. Were you ever intimate with Lily?”

 “Albus…” the emotionally injured man pleaded.

“I’ve known you many years, Severus. I’ve never known you to make the same error twice.”

“What has that got to do with —”

“I would recommend focusing your research on identifying the signs that a bond is forming and what it is made of. This may lead you to insights on its weaknesses and strengths.”

 

Rummaging on his work table, Snape drew a number of texts and scrolls closer and began to work in earnest.

 

“First rational idea you’ve presented in days, Albus.”

 

* * *

 

“Professor?”

“Ms. Granger! What do you need?”

 

Still clothed head to heel in seasonally inappropriate clothing — as she’d been three weeks ago, Hermione made her way to his classroom lab looking thin and tired. Snape steadied himself against his lab table as unrelenting pain washed over him. His own injuries throbbed in synchrony with the unexpected sensations.

 

“I’m… I’m having some discomfort. Madame Pomfrey’s draughts don’t seem to get on top of it and I have N.E.W.Ts to prepare for. Do you have anything… stronger?”

“Sit, please. When did this begin?”

“Shortly after our arrival here.”

“Do the nightmares accompany the pain — are they a trigger?”

“No — your potion handles them quite well. Thank you,” and she attempted a smile of thanks for that small respite from agony.

“What triggers the pain?”

 

Hermione’s eyes left his, staring at the floor, and Severus dreaded her answer. Beyond waves of the torturous screaming of her nerves, nothing else broke through the bond to hint of her welfare. 

 

“Any unexpected or prolonged exertion,” she whispered.

“Then the solution sits before you. Avoid such actions.”

“You told me to live my life. Life involves exertion… at least mine does.”

 

Severus’ curved index finger lifted her chin. He hadn’t touched her this intimately since their return from Flatley.

 

“I also told you that if you are uncomfortable or unwilling, it is your right to say ‘NO’.” 

“I’ve read where some… exertions… take time to adjust to… before the pain stops. I’ve been told it gets better…”

 

After that statement, Severus desired nothing more than to be struck dead where he stood.

He stepped away and swirled his wand at an angry pace around an empty cauldron. Ingredients slammed audibly into the sides of the vessel and blended themselves. Heat from an unseen source produced bubbles and steam in the pot. When he’d finished, a rosy pearlescent liquid swirled gently in the cauldron, giving off the scent of strawberry — her favorite flavor.

 

“Are you with child?”

“No. He takes care of that…” she answered in relief, unaware that her apothecary's heart died a bit more at her statement.

“One sip will alleviate your pain;" he explained as he bottled and corked the potion, "two will send you into a dreamless sleep. Do not take more than 12 doses in a day.”

 

She received the vial, managing to avoid his touch entirely.

 

“Thank you, Prof —”

“We’re alone, Hermione.”

“Thank you, Severus. I’m sorry to trouble you with this…”

“Do try to remember —” he hesitated, unsure of his role in her post-Flatley life.

“What?”

“Love should not hurt.”

 

__________________________

 

“Severus! That’s not a bond potion — it’s a life suspension potion!”

 

Continuing his careful movements, Snape refused to look up and deny Dumbledore’s declaration.

 

“It works. My trials on myself yielded the expected results.”

 

Albus remained silent.

 

“The bond-breaking potion isn’t coming fast enough! She needs to be free of me **now** — not in the ten years it will take for me get it right without killing both of us!”

“When will you take it?”

“After her N.E.W.Ts. When she returns to that hovel Arthur and Molly live in with that insipid boyfriend of hers.”

“I see… Well, as you’ve made up your mind, I’ll alert Minerva to prepare a place for you. You’ll be looked after until her death.”

“Thank you, Albus.”

“Severus?…” Albus prodded tenderly.

 

The potion master's quiet tears, falling into the potion, prompted Dumbledore’s compassionate inquiry.

 

“He’s hurting her, Albus…”

“Yes; I feared he would…”

 

* * *

 

A knock — so soft he thought he’d imagined it — brought him to his door, scowling. With exams three weeks away, pranking teachers became the main stress relief if tradition held true. Snape impatiently anticipated the June school closing. His own life-or-death research into the bond dissolution potion lay incomplete and untouched.

Jerking his door open in preparation to flay some young miscreant, Severus startled as Hermione Granger swooned into his arms, burning up with fever.

 

“Severus… I don’t feel well…”

 

Without waiting, he apparated them to the medical wing.

 

“Poppy! **POPPY**!”

“Severus! What’s happened to her!?”

“She collapsed in my doorway. She’s feverish; she’s been sporting bruises over the last three months and I would say she’s lost considerable weight over that period.”

“She has and I’ve noted it to her. She won’t confide in me,” the healer informed him as her wand swished back and forth over Hermione. “Contact Potter, Severus. He’s her next of kin for medical issues.”

“But she can’t **wait**!”

“I’ll do what I can until he arrives”

 

Poppy Pomfrey witnessed a sight few had seen. Severus Snape, the dark wizard and former Death Eater, swung his wand through the air twice and an otter, impish and frisky, leapt from the tip — and through the 6th story window of the medical wing — boundtowards London.

 

In minutes Harry Potter apparated into the medical facility, running to Hermione’s bedside.

 

“What’s wrong!?”

“She’s suffering from a number of insults; the most serious is the infection someone — ” and Madame Pomfrey gazed at Snape in sympathy, “gave her. Do you grant permission to treat her, Mr. Potter?”

“Yes! Heal her!”

 

Another crack announced a second visitor — Ron Weasley.

 

“What’s the problem with my girl?”

 

Snape spun and marched directly to Ron, followed by a stunned Harry.

 

“How DARE you come here! Leave, Weasley, while I have the will to keep from _killing_ you!”

 

Not a word was spoken much above a growled whisper. Ron’s wand flew to his hand, the tip making a small indentation on Severus’ neck.

 

“Oi! Back up, you **pervert**! That’s my woman there! I’m her first and only so **_piss off_**! All that time alone with her and she wouldn't put out for you, eh? I’m an _auror_ — I could **KILL** you and the Ministry wouldn't ‘bat’ an eyelid!”

 

Snape stared and thought. The wand-less, silent Body-Bind curse had Ron shrieking threats at his former teacher.

 

“Let’s see who’s better at killing, shall we Mr. Weasley?”

“Professor, I don’t understand!” Potter pleaded.

“Severus, take this out in the waiting area,” Poppy commanded, “Ms. Granger requires quiet.”

“Gladly!” 

 

Snape hissed at Ron, “Imperio!”

 

A vapid look occupied Ron’s features.

 

“Professor, you’re not allowed to cast that. I’m supposed to arrest you.”

“And I will surrender to you, Potter, but only _after_ you hear what this lout has done to Hermione Granger! Follow me, Ronald.”

  
__________________________

 

“I’m not going any further than this Waiting Room, Professor. What’s Ron done to Hermione? How’s he involved?”

 

Releasing the Imperious but not the Body-Bind, Snape paced as he explained Weasley’s callous choices to Potter.

 

“Your ‘mate’ here has been forcing himself on Hermione —”

“That’s Ms. Granger to you, you sodding bat, soon to be Mrs. Ronald Weasley!”

“She’s bruised in the expected places. As ‘Mr. Randy’ can’t keep to one woman, he’s infected Hermione with a sexually transmitted disease.”

“That’s a **lie**! **Wizards don’t catch’em**!”

“ **And you didn’t catch ‘it’, you ignorant git** ," Snape shouted back, " ** _your_ _witch_** _ **did**!”_

Harry reasoned aloud — “She’s muggle-born…”

“Hey — you might have given it to her for all I know!” Ron yelled in his own defense, unaware he'd crossed lies with himself.

Harry's memory challenged Ron's attempt to deflect blame — “You told Snape back there that she’d only been with you, Ron.”

“Hermione’s been infected for _**weeks**_ ," Severus continued, convicting Ron with every word spat out, "to be this ill. She’s been taking my _pain_ potions to keep him ‘satisfied’. **Well done, Weasley**! You’re quite the  stud, aren’t you? Thank Merlin you used the contraceptive spells; at least she won’t have **_that_** to deal with!”

 

Severus and Harry recognized the look on Ron’s face. Ron either faked or screwed up the contraception charms to get Hermione’s compliance. Either way, an unplanned pregnancy worked in his favor; it would accelerate her march to the altar. She’d trusted him.

 

“Poppy!” Severus screamed, flicking his wand over Ron while he dashed back to Hermione’s bedside.

“ _Severus_ — _keep your voice down_!” the healer commanded in a hissed whisper.

“Poppy, he didn’t protect her. Check her, _please_!”

 

In the hall outside of the medical wing, Harry released Ron from the remaining restraints.

 

“Thanks, mate. Barmy bat, isn’t he?”

 

The punch lifted Harry's best mate off his feet to land noisily on his back across the chairs in the deserted waiting room.

 

“You _forced_ her.”

“Force? _Hermione_!? She’s a _witch,_ Harry! If she didn’t want to be with me, I’d be a glass of piss right now!” 

“Then why all the bruises, Ron? You didn’t even protect her!”

“Don’t get all high and mighty, mate! My sister’s breedin' your bastard right now! Pomfrey told mum.”

“We’re MARRIED, you heartless git! And we agreed it’s what we BOTH wanted. I never forced Ginny! Get out of here before I seriously hex you. We’ll talk later, just… leave!”

 

After confirming Ron's departure, Harry left the Waiting Area to rejoin Severus' vigil at Hermione’s bedside.

The tableau above Hermione’s abdomen bore a striking resemblance to one Harry’d seen three months ago — except his wife lay beneath the healer’s moving wand. Where Ginny’s images were colorful and dancing with vitality, Hermione’s looked grey. No sound came from the tableau; there shoud have been a quiet rhythmic beat.

 

“What happens now?” a stunned Harry asked the healer.

“The child won’t survive. Ms. Granger wouldn’t have survived the pregnancy in her condition. I’ll treat her infection and her injuries; things will take their course. She should recover, in time.”

“How far along…”

 

Madame Pomfrey laid a heedful hand on Severus’ shoulder before answering his whispered inquiry. In shock at Hermione’s illness and Ron’s contribution to it, Harry missed the healer’s response.

 

“Almost three months, Severus;" the Healer spoke softly near his ear, "a girl child…”

 

Neither Severus nor Harry heard the healer’s footfalls as she returned to her office.

 

Harry broke the silence as realization of the situation made its way through his still palpable fear for Hermione — “My nephew…” 

 

Tears trickled down Harry’s face as he made his way to the chair opposite Severus’ on the other side of the hospital bed.

 

“Niece…”

“‘sorry???”

“Hermione’s child…" Severus corrected, "a daughter…”

 

With the slowing of his own tears, Harry noted those of Severus Snape.

 

“You love her, don’t you, Professor?”

“Merlin help me… It’s happening all over again…” Severus sobbed over her hand he held, “I should have protected her. She’d have protected me…”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

“Severus!?”

 

Pain brought back Hermione's consciousness. Severus groaned softly as it hit him through the bond; her condition amplified their connection.

 

“I’m here!”

 

He hadn’t left her bedside in days.

 

“I’m bleeding…”

 

The miscarriage they’d all anticipated had begun. Severus fought his tears for her sake. He'd not needed this level of  _Occlumency_ since Voldemort's demise.

 

“Y-Y-Your cycle has started. Your condition... interrupted it.”

 

If it was not a lie, neither was it the truth.

 

“Uhhh!” she moaned in distress, wrapping her arms around her abdomen as the contractions strengthened to expel the foetus.

 

Tilting her forward with ease, Severus climbed into the bed behind her to cradle her against his body through the coming ordeal.

 

“We’ll see this through together, Gryffindor.”

“It’s never hurt like this. What aren’t you telling me!?”

 

Hermione felt his tears winding through the tangle of uncombed hair he rested his chin in.

 

“I’m pregnant…”

 

No answer came.

 

“It’s Ron’s and I’m losing it…”

 

His chin bobbed against the top of her head, confirming her conclusions.

 

Curling into him, Hermione sobbed and shuddered her way through the loss of her first child. Hours later, when she’d finished and fallen into an exhausted sleep, Severus collected the child’s remains and buried them himself in the Prince family cemetery (his maternal progenitors) under a headstone he magically chiseled. It read:

 

_Hypolita Granger-Snape_

_Beloved Infant Daughter_

 


	12. Chapter 12

Absent the drain on her depleted body, Hermione recovered faster than expected. In addition to the ever-present DADA teacher, Ginny Potter joined the support team after Harry cleared it with Severus and Hermione; Ginny’s bump protruded visibly now and she had no desire to add to her best friend's sadness.

The Saturday before N.E.W.Ts found them all together, Severus sitting on the hospital bed with an arm around Hermione, when the pop of an apparation twisted their heads. Ron Weasley stood 5 beds away, staring at the group that used to include him. He’d been barred from the wing by Madame Pomfrey.

 

“You lot thought you could keep me out? Smarter than you think, Snape!”

 

Harry and Ginny immediately noticed Ron’s new wand; the unregistered magical implement fooled the protective shield spell.

 

“Hey, ‘Mione,” Ron grinned in quiet greeting, “I’ve been trying to see you. Not a complete prat…”

 

Two magical beings unobtrusively drew their wands to protect Hermione.

 

“I’m not here to cause trouble. Just here to see my girlfriend; see how that baby of ours is coming along.”

 

Severus caught Harry’s eye: The “Weasel” had known or suspected Hermione was pregnant before her collapse. Ron, meanwhile, exploited their distraction and moved towards his girlfriend’s hospital bed. Hermione's constant companion made no move to stop her former fiancé, so Ron continued in her direction. Two more steps towards the bed and the Auror-in-Training dropped like he’d been shot by a high-powered rifle — writhing on the ground whilst holding his groin.

 

 “I warn you, Mr. Weasley. That will happen anytime you get within 20 feet of Ms. Granger without her express permission. And mine or Harry’s. I’m quite fond of that particular spell; invented it myself,” the wily Slytherin explained nonchalantly as he plumped the pillows propping Hermione up.

“Hmpf…” Harry observed the effects of Severus’ protective charm with an appreciative eye. “Willing to teach a few of us aurors that one, Professor? Would help enforce the domestic violence restraining orders.”

“Thank you, Harry, but I worry it might get overused.”

 

Harry chuckled; Severus’ witticisms were starting to click more frequently.

 

“Fine, then. Just teach it to me.”

“And me,” Ginny piped up, “in case Harry misbehaves.”

 

Ron managed to roll himself, with great effort, outside the hex zone. Kneeling then standing, the patients and visitors on the ward clearly saw the damp stain seeping down the front his pants; he’d pissed himself.

 

“ _ **Don’t listen to that child molester!**_ You come home to me when you get out of here. I love you, ‘Mione.”

“Love doesn’t hurt, Ronald. Not the way I did,” Hermione explained to him, dry-eyed.

 

A Leg-Locker curse hit Ron. Patients laughed themselves silly as Ginny levitated her brother out of a window and back to the Burrow.

 

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

”So?…”

 

Severus’ attention never left the potion he’d been refining for days in the small lab in his quarters. For today, at least, Dumbledore — "Mr. Interference" — had absented his portrait.

 

“The hospital stay made it more difficult but I passed.” 

“With?…”

“Two ‘Outstandings’.”

“Excellent! It would be unfortunate if Mr. Weasley damaged your perfect academic record.”

“And you?" she inquired slyly, meandering closer to his workbench. "You’ve been looking after me for weeks. Are you healed?”

“I have been distracted;" he admitted, "with your return to good health, I will focus on my own recovery. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

“Oh!” she apologized from her position behind him. " Didn’t mean to interrupt."

“Supper tonight — now that you have copious amounts of free time?”

“Yes. My place,” she confirmed from beside him.

“I will join you —”

“ _Dismoveo_!”

 

Hermione had never done that, never spelled him outside of the war and a first-year Quidditch match where she thought Severus had jinxed Harry’s broom.

 

“ ** _What have you done, you impertinent_** —”

 

Concealing their bond during her illness — and loss — had cost him every ounce of improvement accomplished during their joint recuperation in Flatley.

 

“Merlin!" she exclaimed as his robe and shirt audibly snapped wide open, " _ **How long have they been like this, Severus**_!?”

 

His injuries, which were closed and nearly healed when they’d returned to Hogwarts four months ago, relapsed. Weeping, ugly, festering tissue stunned her into action.

 

“We’re leaving — tomorrow, day after at the latest.”

“Don’t prattle on, Hermione! The wounds are _cursed_ ; they just need attention.”

“Severus — **stop**! I know what you did. You stopped caring for yourself to care for me. Now it’s my turn.”

 

Inside both minds and hearts, a gentle warmth radiated. Severus' ability to stifle his end of the bond grew exponentially more difficult as her considerable magic and concern for him spontaneously forced the channel wider and wider.

 

“My recollection indicates your obligation has been met. You spent ten months," he reminded her, "imprisoned in the arctic tundra caring for my injuries.”

“Pack. I’ll let Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall know.”

“Your ability to annoy me with your know-it-all behavior is exceeded only by your **imperious presumptiveness**! I am neither your child nor your — _why are you smiling, Hermione_?”

 

Step by step she closed the distance between them, distracting the romantically inexperienced Slytherin sufficiently to render his unfinished potion useless when he added the wrong ingredient. Severus had never been stalked in his own suite before — by a man _or_ a  woman.

 

“Is 10:00 tomorrow too early to apparate?”

“That would depend on _where_ we’re going?”

“Flatley, Iceland, of course. Worked the first time.”

“No, it did not! In case you haven't noticed, I have not healed.”

 

Hermione's hands, with deliberate patience, fastened each open button on his shirt where the robes she'd spelled hung open. She made no effort to prevent casual touches to the uninjured portions of his chest. Severus forgot to breathe.

 

“That’s because," Gryffindor's brightest witch murmured into the limited space between them, "you’re not a healer; I am.”

 

Her protector's shocked expression nearly doubled her over in laughter. The couple stood so close they inhaled each other's breath. At this distance, heat from their expanding bond had him light-headed and weak-kneed. Hermione, by comparison, seemed calmer and more self-assured.

 

“I won't let you die on me, Severus;" she informed the stunned wizard as she withdrew from his inner sanctum (allowing a bit of his panic to subside), "finish up here and don’t be late for supper."

 

* * *

 

“I’m ready,” Hermione called out from the kitchen of the cottage. Wiping her hands, she placed the last dishes away and removed her apron.

 

Flatley’s midnight sun gave its most brilliant displays between 21:00 and 01:00, blazing color across the sky as it chastely kissed the horizon before ascending once again to its pinnacle. Nearly a fortnight after their arrival, the couple ventured out for the first time to experience the phenomena.

 

“I spoil you, witch. Why must you insist we walk at midnight? There’s no moon. I thought romantic walks were best experienced under ‘moonlit skies’?” 

“Have you always whinged this much?”

“Only since spending time trapped with you. I used to live blissfully _a-_ ** _lone_**.”

“That won’t work, Severus," she chuckled. "I’m not going anywhere; you don’t scare me anymore.”

“Unfortunate, that.” he groused half-heartedly.

 

Severus held the door for his companion and they left, descending the porch steps to the path that meandered through the nearby pine woods. Slipping her hand into his broadened the bond, passing emotions and wisps of memories between them.

 

“Tell me, please…; I don’t remember anything but trying to find my way to your rooms.”

 

His fear, galloping down their bond at the remembered image of her _—_  feverish and losing consciousness in his doorway, caused her to stumble. Tightening his grip on the hand he held, he righted her balance.

 

“Merlin’s blood… You made it that far then gave out. I apparated you to the medical wing.”

“I thought only aurors could apparate in Hogwarts.”

“And headmasters. Including former. Hermione? Did he… Did Weasley force you?”

“You saw the bruises?”

 

Severus nodded. Once more his shock and rage at her condition buffeted her mind, unrestrained.

 

“I wish he had…,” she sighed and he experienced her self doubt as his own, “then I wouldn’t feel like an idiot. I consented — I just hadn’t realized what I’d consented to. Ron’s always been impatient; he frustrates easily. My reticence, insisting he slow down until I was ready, made things worse. Probably explains why he left Harry and me during the horcrux hunt.”

“He **_left_** you???”

“Yes, but let’s defer that conversation for another walk. You hate him enough as it is.”

“Have he and Potter reconciled?”

“Somewhat. Ginny owled me that Harry's working through Ron still being his brother-in-law. He’s angry at him, though; knowing Harry's temper it will be a while before they're best mates again. Mrs. Weasley's none to happy with her youngest son either. _She_ owled me to tell me I'm still a 'Weasley adoptee' and she will evict Ron whenever I come to visit. Oh! And she expects to be my children’s grandmother,” Hermione laughed in disbelief.

 

Severus marveled that she could find humor in the aftermath of what she’d suffered. 

 

“I’m sorry, Severus.” 

“How did you manage to graduate from Hogwarts as valedictorian with such a small, unimaginative vocabulary?”

 

His teasing jibe brought a half smile to her expression.

 

“I’m sure you suffered through these last four months… I didn’t take care of you as I'd promised to; so I’m sorry.”

“Hermione…”

 

Severus hated this necessary closure, hated having to rehash his rage and remorse for her.

 

“You left immediately after my miscarriage. Where did you go?”

 

His flatmate stared at the ground while they strolled, dry-eyed. The path wound its way through a patch of mountain wildflowers before branching back towards the cottage.

 

“You stayed with me for 6 days and nights, Severus. Why did you leave?” 

“ _Legilimens…”_ she heard in her head as he reopened the bond on his end.

 

Hermione scarcely registered the touch of his wand before her mind filled with his memory… 

 

> _He apparated into the loveliest part of his ancestral cemetery — ancient ancestral cemetery, really. Prince family ancestors silently reposed here dating back over 1700 years. The older section wouldn’t do; too many trees hid the sunlight. The dark shade perfectly suited his fore-bearers, invested as many were in the darker arts, but his memory told her it would not do for a child of the light._
> 
> _The place he chose received sunlight all day. Centuries would pass before any foliage encroached on this area. Mentally he made a note to update his will; he would lie next to her so she wouldn’t be alone or afraid, as ridiculous as that thought was. His eyes looked to the bundle and a spell moved through his mind: a misty image rose from his charge and the real Hermione sobbed. A baby girl shimmered in the mist, auburn-haired, curled up on her tummy with chubby legs tucked under and sucking her thumb with a contented expression. ‘She could be ours’ he thought._
> 
> _With his hands, and not his wand, Severus opened the earth to receive the baby. The sleeping infant's image stayed until he placed the last of the fertile earth over her. Three broad wand strokes planted an ever-blooming strawberry plant — her mother’s favorite — atop the grave with a spell to ensure ever-lasting spring over the plant. A final wand wave created a headstone carved with a simple epitaph:_
> 
> _Hypolita Granger-Snape, Beloved Infant Daughter._

 

“She deserved to be remembered…” was all he managed, eyes filled with unshed tears.

 

Severus enveloped her in his arms when Hermione came to him, mourning the daughter she never got to meet except in his memory.

 

 

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

“No alcohol until those wounds heal completely, Severus Snape. Give it a few days. Honestly, you are the most impatient man I’ve ever met.”

“I take exception to that…” he growled back.

 

Hermione stopped cleaning the kitchen to join him on the sofa in the living area. She’d accused Ron of extreme impatience weeks ago while explaining her errors in relationship judgment to Severus. He’d never let her categorize him with the man who’d mistreated her.

 

“It’s time I answered that question you haven't asked: ‘Why?’. Why did I let myself tolerate what he did? I’ll answer that tonight if I get to ask you ‘Why?’. Is that fair?”

“I have no objections.”

“I’ve loved Ron since third year. At least I thought I did. I’ve actually spent more time with Harry. Never felt anything romantic towards him even with that horrid horcrux weighing my neck down.

“Ron… _changed_ … while we were out there looking, trying to stay alive. Truth to tell he could be a burden — slow to react magically. He resented the hours and hours Harry and I spent trying to decipher Dumbledore’s obscure clues. The night he left we’d had a terrible row; he accused Harry and me of shagging behind his back and demanded I leave with him. I tried to reason with  him but he argued with me… Then he… left.

“Harry told me the horcrux tried to intimidate Ron when he came back; it told him I loved Harry and that he wasn’t good enough. Ron destroyed the locket but it accomplished its purpose. He got more controlling and more suspicious — never left me alone if he didn’t have to. That damn _Deluminator_ led him right to me no matter where I was. 

“At first I found it… I don’t know… flattering. I was never the prettiest or the most fun in our house. Until Viktor asked me to the Yule Ball, most boys treated me like a sister — even Ron. He had the nerve to snap at me because I accepted Viktor’s invitation. He expected me to wait around as his ‘safety net’.”

“Weasley doesn’t appreciate you.”

 

Hermione grinned at the compliment.

 

“I would accuse you of being partial if Ginny hadn’t said the exact same thing in the hospital. Thank you.”

“No thanks necessary; I’m stating a fact. Impartially.”

 

Her appreciative smile  _almost_ eliminated his continuing desire to turn the Weasel into something small, weak and easily damaged.

 

“The war ended. I certainly wasn't ready for a relationship of any kind — I could barely stand to be around people.”

“That explains your absolute joy at being exiled here with me.”

“Stop taking things out of context! I _explained_ to you that Ron and I argued about my desire to care for you. His last ultimatum was either I stay with him at the Burrow or he would find other girls willing and able to ‘satisfy’ him. I should have ended it right then.”

 

Severus agreed but sensed now wasn’t the time to announce that.

 

“I spent ten months here. You argued with me. You were difficult and waspish. You resisted _most_ of my _best_ suggestions. And I loved it. You treated me with respect and consideration. I was an equal in finding better ways to treat your injuries. I learned from you how I _deserved_ to be treated. 

“But you insisted we go back, and I wasn’t ready. Ron was there — I hadn’t quite sorted why I wanted to be with him — and, before I knew it, I’d convinced myself that if I gave in on the physical part of our relationship that he’d compromise on the parts that were important to me, like equality and respect. Stupid of me…”

“Not stupid; inexperienced. Mr. Weasley never sought a partnership; he sought to control you. Did he harm you in any other manner?”

 

Severus had witnessed the many times his own father had beaten his mother — and the times his mother had fought back and won over his alcoholic Muggle father.

 

“No; he manhandled me during sex but he never struck me. Ron wasn’t abusive, Severus, just incredibly selfish and oblivious to my discomfort. There was never any _tenderness_ between us. If I’d never spent time with you, I’d never have known what tenderness felt like.”

 

Hermione toed off her slippers and tucked her legs underneath her, lost in thought for moments while sipping her juice.

 

“I guess I’d sum it up as a lack of confidence. No one really _wants_ to be alone; I certainly don’t. I rather look forward to having a family more than I did,” she admitted with a sigh. “But I undervalued myself and it cost me my daughter and almost cost me my life. If you hadn’t stepped in, if I hadn’t trusted you, I’d have died in my rooms…”

 

Single tears made their way irregularly down her cheeks.

 

“Which brings me to my question for you: why didn't you tell me what you and Dumbledore discovered about our bond?” 

“Because I cannot and will not use you for my benefit. You care for me — otherwise the ancient magic could not have healed me — but you will find a partner who respects and cherishes you and you should be free to do so.”

“That will be impossible if I’m dead. If you die, so do I.”

“Who told you this? Dumbledore!? I will _kill_ him **again** , I swear!”

“I cornered him and McGonagall before we left. Your wounds got worse while I was ill, didn’t they?”

 

Severus nodded, not trusting his voice.

 

“Were you _ever_ going to tell me you were dying?”

“No, since I expected to expire _before_ you and could, therefore, avoid any further ‘suggestions’ _from_ you on my next course of action.”

 

Shock morphed into laughter as she parsed his zinger.

 

“You’d **die** just to get away from my ‘suggestions’!?”

“Yes.”

 

Hermione wiped the smug look off his face when she crawled into his lap.

 

“Ms. Granger…” he growled. 

“Too late for that. And it's 'Hermione'. I have one more question — Harry told me what you said, that first night in hospital.”

“That’s not a question so I feel no obligation to respond.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you loved me before we left Flatley?”

 

In all the time she’d known him, Hermione had never personally seen Severus Snape unhinged — yet the man sitting underneath her exhibited a full-blown panic attack at her question. Sweat poured off him in a room not more than 65-deg-F. His heart pounded so hard in his chest her heart fought not to match its insistent tempo. She could see his soul in eyes so wide they'd doubled their size. And underneath her bottom, his response was unmistakable.

 

“Because you’re too young. Because you weren't ready. Because of the three types of love defined by the Greeks, ‘agape’ — the one most applicable to your situation — did not match mine: ‘eros’, meaning —” 

“I know the definition of ‘eros’, Professor.”

 

Severus licked lips gone dry with anxiety and continued in the hopes that she’d remove herself from his lap and save him from terminal embarrassment or worse.

 

“Because you were betrothed to that bully ‘Weasel’. Because I’m almost 39 and you’re 19; I’m too old for you!”

“Dumbledore doesn’t think so. In fact, he pointed out to me that most wizards are fertile well into their nineties and most witches into their seventies.”

“Dumbledore is an interfering, manipulative, scheming, arrogant **git** who I will deal with when I’m **dead** and have my own portrait! I’ll have him running until they hang Minerva’s portrait. Give her some peace from his intrusions while she’s alive.”

“You left out the real reasons.”

“Thank you for reading my mind. I see I am woefully uninformed regarding your skills as a legilimens. _And those would be_?” he retorted snarkily.

“Because you thought you were being unfaithful to Lily Evans’ memory. And because you thought I’d spurn you for Ron like Harry’s mother did for James Potter.”

 

All Severus could manage were several dry swallows. She’d read him like one of her beloved books.

 

“I remember you telling me, and I quote, ‘I only found my courage as Lily lay dead in my arms. Tell him while you can.’ Madame Pomfrey told me your patronus is an otter now — same as mine. I won’t let you die, Severus, for reasons even you should be able to figure out.”

“Should I thank Dumbledore for your confession?”

“Uh-huh. And Professor McGonagall. And Ginny Weasley. It always helps to have a woman’s perspective.”

“Ginny Weasley!? Merlin, what does she know?”

“She watched you at hospital and she’s married to Harry; they talk.”

 

Hermione stuck a hand inside his shirt, curling her fingers through the regrowing chest hair. In the three weeks since their return to the cottage his wounds had re-closed and new skin covered his scars at a rapid rate.

 

“Why don’t I save us both since Gryffindors are far braver than Slytherins.”

“Yes, the cemeteries are filled with your Lion’s Pride.”

“I love you, Severus.”

“This seems rather… sudden… given your recent encounters with the Weasel.”

“Thought you’d say that. Ron taught me in a hurry what love is not. Because you’d already shown me what love is.”

“ _Real-ly_ …” he drawled out.

 

She kissed his all-but-healed chest before explaining herself in language originating from outside and inside his head.

 

“Love is patient.” She kissed his neck.

 

“Love is tolerant.” She kissed his ear.

 

“Love is generous.” She kissed his forehead.

 

“Love is long-suffering.” She kissed his cheek.

 

“Love is kind.” She brushed his lips with hers.

 

“Love is unselfish.” She kissed his lips and he nearly lost consciousness.

 

“You’ve been struggling for months to find a potion to undo this bond we seem to have, rather than tell me. Dumbledore speculated you were also working on a potion to suspend your life so I could live mine without you.” 

“Dumbledore really needs to be moved into one of the hermetically-sealed sound-proof attics at Hogwarts. Preferably a cursed one.”

“I loved you before we left this place. I should have told you then. I’ve made some terrible choices which you were witness to. You didn’t deserve to have two women leave you for someone else. I’ve hurt you so badly yet you rescued me. Do you forgive me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Oh, Merlin’s ba—… beard, Hermione! Is there no end to the punishment and confession you’ll put me through?”

“It’s important, Severus.”

“Very well. I forgive you because every time he exerted himself on you, hurt you, you came to me for help and for comfort. He used your body ruthlessly but I knew you were mine. I had to wait for you to choose. Does that put paid to this interrogation?”

“Thank you.”

“No thanks necessary; I cherish you.”

 

* * *

 

”You’re being old fashioned.”

“And you are being **_you_**.”

“I don’t **_want_** to wait.”

“Then say 'Yes', complete the ceremony and I am yours.”

“You are a stubborn —”

“Careful! Wouldn’t want me to feel unloved and ruin all that healing, would we?”

“Ugh!” his witch groaned in frustration — emotional and sexual.

“We’ve arrived at the unintelligible portion of the evening. I will be in the lab analyzing the most recent portions.”

“Alright! I surrender — you win! YES! I will marry you.”

“When?” he shot at her, arms crossed across his chest in suspicious disbelief.

“The way I feel right now? Ten minutes.”

 

For not the first time, Hermione reclined on the couch in drenched knickers because Severus (fore)played a scorching melody on her lips and her body but wouldn’t “finish” the symphony without a wedding. 

She loved — and benefitted greatly from — his control and patience. She’d appreciated that months ago when she’d had to relearn how to trust a man intimately. But even Hermione “Ice Maiden” Granger had her limits and Severus “Not Until We’re Married” Snape had slammed her into them and left her there every evening for the last two weeks.

 

_Merlin! Where did a man who’s only loved one woman — platonically — learn to do those things!?_

 

At summer’s start they’d broached the minefield of Hermione’s sexual re-education. Terrified but determined, she counted on Severus’ promise to be patient _—_ and his demand she not succumb to impatience with her own responses _—_ to move her past her hesitancy with heterosexual intimacy:

  

 

 

> _“This isn’t fair to you, Sev.”_
> 
> _“It is not only fair but I insist. When we consummate our relationship I will not have you fearful and cringing in terror. My pleasure is directly linked to yours, thanks to that bond. So we will spend time differentiating my love-making from Weasel’s rape behaviors. I have a question; please consider your response carefully.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _Uncomfortable with his change in tone, Hermione inhaled a deep breath and exhaled slowly._
> 
>  
> 
> _“Yes?”_
> 
> _“Do you wish for me to ‘Obliviate' what you experienced with Weasel? I can be selective; I am a skilled Legilimens.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _Hermione shook his offer up in her head for an interminably long time before deciding before shaking her head in the real world._
> 
>  
> 
> _“No.”_
> 
> _“Your reasoning?”_
> 
> _“We’ve discussed having a family, Severus. Those memories will help me if we have a daughter.”_
> 
> _“Another daughter…”_
> 
>  
> 
> _Her sad smile touched him, as did her soft hand laid gently on his cheek._
> 
>  
> 
> _“And that’s why I don’t need to be ‘Obliviated'. I will always know the difference; those memories educated me and led me to you. Leave them, please.”_
> 
> _“As you wish…”_

 

Weeks of casual intimacy banked the heat both felt, throbbing through their bond, a tad higher:

 

 

 

> _They enjoyed gentle kisses but any move of his hands from her face elicited a panic response._
> 
>  
> 
> _“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Why am I **LIKE** this!?”_
> 
> _“You have been ill-treated. We will work through it. Would you enjoy a small glass of wine to alleviate some of your tension?”_
> 
> _“Please and thank you.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _He rose from the couch after a kiss to Hermione’s forehead and retrieved the New Year’s bottle of wine gifted to them by the overly-sentimental Albus Dumbledore._
> 
> _Severus’ fingers tingled again at the touch of the wine’s container as did Hermione’s when he handed her the bottle to place on the sofa table; neither mentioned it. Ten different types of “Reveal” spells — including Finite, Finite Incantatum and Specialis Revelio — exposed no charms, spells or spiking by potion. Chalking his misgivings up to the last five months of stress in their lives, Severus regained his seat and they finished their glasses of wine in enjoyable conversation._
> 
>  
> 
> _“The world will be better for a good night’s rest.” Severus suggested, taking her empty glass and setting it aside. Extending a hand, he eased Hermione off the couch. She smiled at the little ways he made her feel loved._
> 
>  
> 
> _Ten minutes after entering the bedroom, Severus experienced the oddest sense of deja vu. Hermione lay practically on top of him as he ran his dextrous fingers through her hair. She couldn’t be more relaxed. As she’d struggled with anxiety whenever he took the lead in their cuddling, he allowed her to explore at her own pace._
> 
> _The next he knew she’d rolled him almost on top of her and softly begged him to “love her”. Mindful of his promise to take it slow, he skimmed his fingertips over her skin, teaching her again what a tender lover should do for her._
> 
> _Muted sunlight cast a glow over her. Severus noted again — with pleasure and ardent relief — the healthy color of her skin, her light tan gained from hours of gardening, hiking and enjoying the prolonged summer sunlight at this elevation. As he always made sure to do, Severus captured a mental photo of this Hermione and stored it over the top of one of his feverish Hermione mental images._
> 
> _He kissed her, touching her with his educated lips but never forcing his way into any opening. Gasping under him, she shocked him by trapping his tongue with her lips and applying light suction._
> 
> _Cautiously, Severus tugged at the hem of her tank top; she willing arched her back and raised her arms, letting him remove it. She wore no bra underneath but Severus intentionally avoided her breast. There was plenty of her to make love to without mimicking Weasel’s impatience. Instead, his tongue laid in paths from her neck to her navel and back, titillating everything_ ** _but_** _her breasts. The tactic worked; instinctively she raised her breasts and her hips towards him, seeking more stimulation._
> 
>  
> 
> _“Patience, love. We have the summer.”_
> 
>  

> _Hermione processed this statement, trying to decide if she agreed when Severus’ hand entered her shorts, scooting under the elastic of her knickers. Deliberately he ministered to all the skin outside her folds. Feather touches played — at her hips, her nether hair, the junction of her thighs, her flat belly beneath her navel — yet completely ignored the flower garden and its entrance hidden beneath the folds._
> 
> _When he felt her hands stroking an erection he already struggled to control, he withdrew._
> 
>  
> 
> _“Excellent progress, Hermione. I can’t wait to see what you have in store for me tomorrow.”_

 

Summer evenings saw Severus methodically re-educate her (in the **best** possible ways) in almost every room in the cottage. Ten days from tonight both would return to England and normal life; Hermione hoped to complete her re-education here in the bed they shared. Severus balked; he would not be pushed into the final act. 

 

The price for moving past selective groping and snogging would be paid with a ring and a ceremony.

 


	15. Chapter 15

True to his word, Severus’ seduction of his wife began at the repast following the wedding. Nestled in a cozy dining room in the hidden halls of Hogwarts, the Snapes enjoyed a luscious meal with an intimate group of friends — Harry and Ginny with newborn James, Neville and Luna, Draco and Astoria, the Weasley family — excluding Ron, their favorite staff members from Hogwarts and their closest acquaintances from Gryffindor and Slytherin houses with their dates.  And a small group of house elves who Hermione considered friends. The bride and groom’s 38 guests were treated to an exquisite yet personal affaire.

Hermione lifted the last of her lamb onto her fork when the sensation overwhelmed her. Underneath the table, well-hidden by the swag of the linen tablecloth, Severus rested his hand on her mid-thigh. Steadily, his fingers raked the material of her calf-length dress upward to reveal bare thigh to no one but him. Then, with mischievous intent, Severus ran a single finger from her knee to her knickers in a serpentine pattern that had her heated and chilled and panting and breathless all at once. The sensitive nose of a man who’d spent decades teasing the magic from myriad ingredients, determining their peak freshness or strength from aroma alone, picked up the musk sent his way by her response to his attentions.

 

“I promised to make love to you completely once we were married.” he murmured, pretending before the assembled guests to be kissing her ear.

“I’ve waited for this day for quite a while,” she replied in a double entendre, hoping the closest of their guests would misunderstand her secret message to her devilish huband of one hour. 

 

A dextrous finger slid up and down the crotch of her knickers before slipping inside the elastic at the leg and between the folds covering her nub, rubbing and teasing her while the owner of said finger discoursed dispassionately to an animated Professor Pomona Sprout about the merits of dried versus fresh mandrake in petrification curatives.

 

 _I will_ ** _drain_** _you when we leave here, Severus Snape!…_ she vowed to herself, struggling to keep an appropriate expression and to keep her eyes from rolling back into her head.

 

Dumbledore’s portrait called the room to order.

 

“I’d like to make a toast and then we’ll allow the happy couple to spirit themselves away for a quiet holiday.”

“Not likely to be quiet, Professor!” Seamus Finnigan shouted out to the knowing laughter in the room. Hermione blushed at the thought that all in attendance understood exactly what would be happening after the couple’s exit from the festivities.

“I toast the joining of two people who have given much to our magical world and asked little in payment. Both have suffered for who they are away from the people in this room who care for them. Both are healing from grievous hurts. I salute your strength and your courage — because it takes courage to love. To the bride and groom!”

 

Choruses of “To the bride and groom!” where accompanied by cheers of “Here, here!”.

 

Officiating for the last time at these nuptials, Dumbledore cleared his throat rather loudly for silence.

 

“Take our best wishes with you through your lives together,” the jovial former headmaster instructed the couple, “and please leave. Now.”

 

Raucous laughter accompanied the catcalls and jeers. Regretfully, Severus retracted his wandering hand and draped Hermione’s dress over her knee. Taking her hand with the one he’d just removed from between her thighs, Severus escorted his wife out of the room and into the adjoining corridor where he apparated them to their temporary love nest.

* * *

 

“Thank you. I was afraid you would damage my dress in the height of passion.”

 

Severus exploited their embrace during apparation to remove their clothing. Their feet landed light as clouds in the living area of the cottage in Flatley, Iceland. Moaning could be heard from Severus as his hands explored the sheer Slytherin-green lingerie she’d hidden under her dress.

 

“You are a cunning minx, Gryffindor —”

“Serves you right for teasing me unmercifully at our wedding, Slytherin.”

 

How she managed to talk while her tongue tantalized his mouth escaped any explanation Severus was capable of at the moment.

 

“Part of the services provided, Mrs. Snape.”

 

Another long, wet kiss accompanied their dance-walk to the couch. Severus had released her tongue from his mouth in preparation for the opening moves in the consummation of their marriage when Hermione spotted an old wine bottle, with a light coating of dust, and a card on the mantle.

 

“Severus? Do I have you to thank for this?”

“No, but I think I know where it came from —” and with a subtle straightening of his fingers he cast “Accio Wand”, “Finite Incantatum” and “Specialus Revelio” in rapid succession. Neither the bottle nor the attached card revealed any obvious enchantment.

“As you seem to enjoy these rare vintages, shall we indulge before we… _indulge_?”

“I’d love to,” Hermione answered, reaching behind her back to release the clasp on her bra.

“Stop what you’re doing, Mrs. Snape. Any ‘unwrapping’ will be done by me and me alone.”

“I’m not a possession.”

“You are not. But you will ruin my enjoyment if you continue. It will be my first time undressing your beautiful body completely. I would prefer not to miss the experience.”

“Then I’m all yours,” she consented, tears gathering but not falling. 

 

 _Remember, Hermione, this is a first for him,_  she chided herself.

 

Closer scrutiny of the bottle label identified the vintage — a rare amontillado corked over 200 years ago by one of the finest vineyards in the world. His practiced hand uncorked the bottle to give the wine time to breathe.

 

Inserting a finger at the corner, Severus slid the digit along the flap to open the envelope and removed the note. Despite the lack of revelation from his spells, Severus couldn’t shake his feeling, while touching the note, that it felt _different_ than it should. But he pushed his concern to the side as he watched his new bride, in that sexy lingerie, fold herself onto the couch to await her aperitif before resuming her state of hot-and-bothered in their bedroom.

 

“What does it say?” she asked, as he handed her half a glass of the amontillado in the lovely crystal goblets they'd found conveniently placed beside the wine on the mantle.

 

 

> “ _Dearest Hermione and Severus,_
> 
>  
> 
> _I cannot express my utter joy at your union. I have no doubt you will care for and take care of each other. I look forward to greeting your children at Hogwarts — or will you be sending them to Durmstrang, Severus? You have time to discuss it but don’t delay too long; these decisions can come upon you rather suddenly._
> 
> _In any event, the wine comes from my personal cellar at Hogwarts. I’ve had six bottles delivered to your rooms to partake of on your return. This wine has the unusual ability to adapt to the drinker’s desires; a very coveted feature. Enjoy!_
> 
>  
> 
> _Albus Dumbledore”_

  

Leaning in, Severus found her lips as she rested on the couch and drove her backwards into the cushions with gentle pressure from his own.

 

“Mmmm…”

 

Her moan vibrated through his lips and settled as a hum at the base of his member, forcing blood into an already crowded space.

 

“Hermoine…”

“I’m ready…” she announced into the kiss, encircling his waist with her legs.

“You married an older wizard —”

“Take me to bed, husband.”

“Well! When you put it like that —”

 

Bracing himself against the back of the sofa with his arms, he pushed off to an upright position, lifting her with him. Soaked knickers rubbed against an erection straining to be released from his  thigh-length boxers. Tightening her legs eliminated the non-existent gap between them, pressing his trapped member between the flesh over her most sensitive area — hidden behind the crotch of those nearly soaked knickers.

Making room by relaxing her legs, the frustrated bride reached between them and inside his boxers to stroke his eager, hardened flesh. Lazy fingertips rode up and down the protruding vein as far as she could reach.

 

“You are being naughty, Hermione.”

“If you’ll hurry up, I’ll help you with this.” she teased. 

 

She’d never been free to learn, to explore, with Ron and the feel of Severus on her fingertips and in her hand sent jolts of tingling into her erogenous zones; so did the suckling and nipping of a very inquisitive mouth at her breast. He’d denied her full access until this night, insisting that their first time together should consecrate his lifetime commitment to her. Her head rolled back, eyes closing to block out any sensory inputs not coming from her new husband.

She smiled wickedly; she’d _gladly_ take a lifetime of his attentions if this was the prelude.

 

“Ah!” she yipped as he nuzzled her breast and worried at her nipple with his teeth for the first time ever. “I’m going to-to-to —”

“To release?” he teased into a mouthful of breast, “To explode? To dissipate? To die?”

 

Grasping his erection tighter, she stroked him with the hand buried in his shorts, squeezing his prominent head to milk fluid from him for lubrication. _He_ moaned this time.

 

“Let me finish with you before we both topple over, witch.”

“Close.. ‘m close…”

 

Exasperated at the eternal edge she couldn’t get over, Hermione twisted her hand around and applied back-and-forth touches to her own flower-like flesh as he walked them to the bed. Pleasant as the sensations were, they only aggravated her state of arousal; release would not arrive from her own efforts.

 

“Sev, please… Wanna come…”

 

Whinging with desire distracted her when he laid her down, her hips at the edge of the bed. 

 

“You are so beautiful…”

 

Rucking the sheer fabric of her camisole over her sensitized nipples caused stars to explode behind her closed eyelids.

 

“Let me take care of that for you, Mrs. Snape.”

“Yes. Now. Please.”

 

The effort to lift her hips slightly as she braced herself for his entrance completely — knees bent and feet pressed flat against their marital bed — distracted her; his mouth parted the skin covering her tender flower and his tongue laved its roughened surface against her petals of swollen flesh. Severus knelt on the floor, his head perfectly placed at the triangle of arousal between her thighs.

 

“I’m-I’m-I’m…” she keened incoherently.

 

Another long, languorous lap ran from the entrance of her secret garden to the tip of her special flower. Her groom secured her near his mouth, his arms snaked around her cute bum with hands anchored at the juncture of her thighs and hips. Unable to move away, Hermione twisted and thrashed under an oral onslaught so intense she feared passing out from sensory overload before achieving orgasm. Somewhere in the back of her formerly rational mind she’d eventually remember that she’d never experienced orgasm with Ron, just pain and pregnancy. In the moment, she held on and awaited the explosion Severus’ mouth would initiate very soon.

 

“I’M—, I’M—!”

 

Pressure so intense it brought tears to her eyes built with every brush of his tongue, controlled her until blessedly — finally — something wonderful and powerful and consuming took her to a place called “Bliss”.

And kept her there — his mouth instigating more reactions so intense the pleasure bordered on painful.

 

She pleaded, unable to twist out of his iron grip — ”Too much! I can’t…!”

 

When bliss arrived again, Hermione learned two things: that she could enjoy multiple orgasms and that her husband had talents they’d spend a lifetime exploring together.

 

“I want…" she panted, "Inside… Please…”

 

Silently he kissed his way up both thighs, scraping her juices from his face on the supple skin inside her thighs. This close to the location of continuing pleasure her muscles rippled as his cheeks and chin moved from side to side. Two quick swipes of her bundle by his tongue lit the pilot light between her legs once more.

 

“Don’t tease!”

“As you wish.”

 

Standing again, he murmured a charm and reconfigured the mattress underneath her. A small body-width wedge of mattress rose, lifting and cradling her hips while tilting her entrance upward for her greater pleasure to come. Kissing his way up her body, her mate fisted his very ready hard-on and smeared the head up and down her bud of layered flesh to prepare her for his entrance. Fluids mingled, her increasing lubrication overpowering his own release of preparatory fluids. 

When his lips arrived at hers he tilted his shaft to the center of her opening and leaned in to penetrate her with tender restraint.

His measured descent provoked a moan from both. The _Engorgio_ spell broadened and thickened him comfortably within her, filling her without discomfort. His lower head scraped her g-spot, causing Hermione to arch her back off the bed in a way that put more pressure on that wonderland of sensation.

 

“Merlin, Severus, that feels good… _so_ good!”

 

Methodically he pierced her and withdrew with agonizing control, determined to make the experience different from anything she’d endured with her bastard ex-boyfriend and so pleasurable she would seek him out over and over again during their honeymoon. So far he had Hermione thrashing, aching, moaning and _responding_ — her hips found his rhythm and met him in synch without fumbling or banging. 

Absent the need to hold himself over her (thanks to his standing position between her legs), "Mr. Seduction" could roll his hips as he penetrated to change his angle within her and bring forth new and satisfying sensations for them both. He made a mental note to congratulate himself —  when he could think again — for selecting this position. 

Freed from supporting his weight, his hands skirted over the skin of her chest (but not her breast, not yet...), her flat stomach that would one day soften with a roundness they’d create together, her sides and shoulders where too hard a touch reddened  and pained skin that retained the memory of torture, her lips that his finger traced and she sucked on spontaneously and her thighs wrapped tightly around his own to keep him buried deep enough to touch her spine with every forward descent of his manhood within her.

 

“Harder, please!”

“Woman, you will be the death of me!”

 

Whether because it announced the end of his time inside her or because she began to respond to the stimulation, Hermione’s minuscule enjoyment in her encounters with Ron had always come during those final moments before his release. The quick, desperate, increasingly ragged strokes always brought her to the edge; Ron’s selfishness left her there, unsatisfied, every time. Right this minute, based on her limited data, she understood that her release depended completely and totally on Severus’. He’d have to get a lot closer to get her off.

 

“Need you to come, baby…”

“I want to pleasure you.” he begged, concerned that she felt an obligation to satisfy him and not herself.

“’s not coming,” she whinged in frustration for her first real orgasm from intercourse, “Make it come, Sev…”

 

That request by his willing wife ripped the last vestiges of control and patience from his actions. 

 

Faster strokes (punctuated by primal grunts) satisfied her need for “more”. With her legs locked at the ankle behind his thighs, Severus was forced to keep his thrusts short and sweet, to her liking. Thanks to the mattress wedge, Mrs. Snape's new partner hit every pleasurable spot inside of her. His pelvic bone slid over her flower with each stroke. Frozen in place by her legs, his head inside her rubbed her g-spot over and over. And there was the sheer joy — rising by the second — of being impaled repeatedly by a plump, pulsating piston that tantalized every inch of her straight to her swollen cervix.

 

“Gryffindor, Gryffindor…”

 

Repetition of his nickname for her would become the signal that he had about five good moves left before he dropped a load inside her. Sure enough, his message got through and she detonated, squeezing him so tight the head of him throbbed. 

 

“MERLIN! **_SEVERUS_** —” and she toppled into release.

 

And he fell with her.

 

“SWEET MERLIN’S BALLS, GRYFFINDOR!”

 

The _Engorgio_ spell filled his sac beyond its previous known capacity, a side-effect Harry hadn’t mentioned when they’d discussed how to compensate for being an old wizard married to a young witch. Severus groaned with each thrust as he tried to relieve the pleasure-pain of too much semen traveling down too small tube. Each spurt inside his wife stimulated the build-up of more seed within him. His sensory threshold screamed at him to stay on the "pleasure" side of that divider. Severus obeyed by continuing to pump and empty himself into her.

Relief from his prolonged effort came with each squirt, made easier by the grip of her vice-like sheath around him. As the end seemed near, Severus felt swelling again and the imperative of impending ejaculation.

 

“Hermione — **_what are you_** …???”

“Shhh… Enjoy.”

 

Hermione had snaked her arm between them again. Her index finger and thumb ringed the base of him to milk every drop of seed, having the surprising effect of bringing him to climax once more — thanks to _Engorgio_.

 

“I’m yours, Sev…”

 

Severus fell forward onto his arms, hunched over her, while her efforts quickly yanked another orgasm from him on the heels of the last. His wife had reduced him, in short order, to a thrusting mass of sexual need trying to empty testicles that seemed to hold infinite — and increasing — amounts of his seed.

 

“Let me take care of you…” she cooed as one hand continued to milk more from him than he thought achievable while the other stroked his back and side.

 

What seemed like hours later, the intense pressure of sustained ecstasy subsided in his sac and he dropped next to her in sheer exhaustion. The mattress returned itself to it normal configuration and, after a bit of scooting and readjustment, Mr. and Mrs Severus Snape found themselves under light covers, in each other’s arms and fast asleep.

 

* * *

 

Severus awoke to the quiet susurration of Hermione’s breathing. Never a heavy sleeper, he chose to leave her in peace until she awoke on her own. Doing so required separation; the sight of her nude body with no further restrictions on his access to it had him growing stiff. Carefully extricating himself from her encircling arm, he made sure to tuck her in before heading to the living area, grabbing sleeping pants on his way out and closing the bedroom door behind him.

In the glow of fall’s late afternoon sunlight and the embers of the fire she'd insisted he start before they stumbled their way into their bedroom — truly _their_ bedroom, this time — Severus’ suspicious mind turned itself back to the odd sensations experienced when he’d handled Dumbledore’s note earlier. Pouring another glass of that marvelous vintage (Dumbledore might be meddlesome and mawkish but he knew a great wine when he found one), the groom removed the note from its place next to the bottle on the mantle and reclined on the couch to reread it and ponder what hidden enchantments the old irritant set in motion.

Sure enough, as Severus sipped his wine the parchment began to glow. The words he’d read to Hermione not three hours ago faded out and new words replaced them inked in a royal green - Slytherin’s color.

 

> _“Severus,_
> 
>  
> 
> _Hopefully my charm bypassed the notice of Ms. Granger — or should I say Mrs. Snape, for so she is. This message should only be readable while held by you and in her absence. I will admit I am unsure how the deepening of your bond will affect this enchantment; it is quite possible that the spell will be unable to differentiate between you two with time. I’ve been told this is a feature of the best marriages._
> 
> _I’ve chosen to declare my wedding presents in this manner, knowing you to be an exceedingly private man. Never have I enjoyed choosing gifts as much as I have when selecting these. You should know that I would have given you anything you asked for after your 17-year assignment as a double agent for the Order. The wizarding world would not have survived Voldemort’s reign. Yet, for your safety and that of your family, I could not recognize your considerable contributions publicly — that and my concern you would apparate away if given any kind of public acknowledgment._
> 
> _First and foremost, accept my gratitude, my appreciation and my respect for your work. You sacrificed your youth and your happiness to prevent a holocaust. It shall not be forgotten in spite of your propensity for privacy._
> 
> _I have transferred the deed to this property to you. This sanctuary restored me after my duel with Grindewald and the loss of my dear sister Ariana to my avarice and arrogance. Hermione will require similar restoration for many years to come; the cottage has been good for her. In the event that you have no children — unlikely given the nature of the amontillado — Harry and his children will inherit. The deed registers this cottage as ‘Lily Evans’ Cottage to honor you and your great love for her.  By the way — if you haven’t already noted, the year-round inhabitants of Flatley are all magical beings. You need not hide yourselves when you visit._
> 
> _Neither should you worry concerning your safety. I, myself, executed the protections and defenses around the cottage and the village. The portrait of Godric Gryffidor holds the secrets if you ever need them, as does Minerva. Her knowledge can only be retrieved if Godric's portraits should all be destroyed. However, in deference to your well-earned paranoia, this note holds those secrets. Use our shared password while holding this parchment to reveal the information._
> 
> _I borrowed your everlasting elixir potion to add to the amontillado. I’m sure you noted my revelation about satisfying the desires of the partaker. The vintage will refill itself while your lineage lasts, so have a care where you store the bottle; Granger-Snape children will, I predict, be inquisitive and resourceful magic wielders._
> 
> _Finally, because I hold a deep attachment to Hogwarts and it’s continued success, I’ve placed a fertility charm on the cottage. You’ll need to use the contraceptive charm three successive times to overcome it. As I write this now it occurs to me that you might have benefitted from knowing this before leaving the reception. Oh well, old age has its privileges._
> 
>  
> 
> _I look forward to your return to the school. I am sure we’ll have much to discuss — particularly now that you understand why no wizard in history has successfully produced a bond dissolution spell or potion. After all — if the bond was possible in the first place, why break it?_
> 
>  
> 
> _With warmest regards,_
> 
> _Albus Dumbledore”_

 

“That Machiavellian, deceitful, self-serving IDIOT!” Severus shouted.

 

Dropping the note haphazardly on the floor, Severus dashed into their bedroom to find Hermione waking, satisfied and rested. Green ink bled back into black as the letters describing Dumbledore’s real gifts disappeared under enchantment.

 

“Severus?” she greeted him, arching her back in a lazy stretch, “How long have you been up?”

“Long enough to miss you.”

 

Covertly taking hold of his wand and holding it behind him, he made his way, naked, to their bed and seated himself beside her. Hermione’s beauty and allure brought his lips to hers without volition and restarted a stirring much lower on his body. Seeking support as she rose, her hand inadvertently grazed his stiffness as she propped herself up.

 

“Mmmm… Feel free to wake me up like this every morning.”

“Hermione, let me check you, please.”

“Why???”

“To make sure I haven’t hurt you in any way. It’s only been six months.”

 

Kissing and smiling simultaneously proved challenging but Hermione managed.

 

“I’m fine. Just a twinge.”

 

The kiss ended abruptly when he withdrew, a sober expression on his face.

 

“When?”

“Right as you walked in. I need to pee.”

 

Severus arrested her move to swing her legs past him and stand.

 

“Please — it will only take a moment. Lie down.”

 

She frowned as she smiled, perplexed at this sudden seriousness, and relented.

_Mental Note: Husbands can be very over-protective… The caring ones…_

Certain of the outcome — thanks to Dumbledore and his family-planning charm — her new husband ran the wand inches above his bride’s midsection. The answer floated above her like a high-definition lighted advertisement in Diagon Alley.

 

“Severus — is that what I think it is?” 

“Yes…”

“You cast the spell! So did I!”

 

He’d drilled her to never trust a man with her fertility again, not even him. Both visibly cast the contraceptive charm — out loud — in front of the other before the wedding.

 

“Yes…”

“How did this happen!?”

 

Then she saw it as he stared at the evidence above her womb — a rare grin pushed the corners of the new father's mouth apart. The unusual expression traveled upward, raising his cheeks and coloring his normally sallow complexion. From there it took up residence in his dark eyes and declared its presence. Severus’ expression shone with delight and wonder never seen by Hermione before.

 

“Are you willing? If not, I can remove —”

“ **SEVERUS SNAPE**! Don’t you **_EVER_** suggest that  AGAIN! That’s our **BABY**!”

 

The shock of her words stung his cheeks an embarrassed red. In fits and starts he tried, unsuccessfully, to explain his meaning.

 

“Hermione, you’ve just been through… Ron violated you… I-I-I don’t wish to force you —”

“If neither of England’s more competent and knowledgable wizards can manage to cast a simple contraception charm correctly then this child is meant to exist.”

“Truer words were never spoken, love.” Severus admitted as he embraced her; he left off explaining why this outcome had been guaranteed thanks to an interfering idiot named Albus Dumbledore.

“You’ve never smiled like that before, Mr. Snape.” Her mouth left heat on his neck.

“I’ve never had reason to, Mrs. Snape.”

“Harry and Ginny will tease us mercilessly.” She nibbled his earlobe as her hand ruffled the hair on his chest.

“Let them.”

 

Insecurity shaped Hermione’s question as she leaned away to face him.

 

“You’re okay with this, Severus? It’s rather a lot to handle for a man used to being alone. A new wife and a new baby together…”

“It has taken too many years. I assure you, I am quite ready.”

 

After a brief kiss, Hermione scrambled out of the bed and headed for the loo.

 

“If we’re this fertile, I’m glad we waited until _after_ the wedding.” and she disappeared behind the bathroom door.

“You have no idea, Gryffindor…” he sighed in resignation to his fate with a satisfied grin.

 


	16. Epilogue

**_Six Years Later…_ **

 

“Severus — let’s take the boys into the bounce house. I think our ladies have had enough.”

“They’re not the only ones,” Severus whined while chasing the youngest of his three mahogany-haired sons and corralling the lot in the direction of Harry and his two boys.

“Never thanked you for that potion, by the way. Ginny’s really pleased to be having a girl this time.”

“If there’s any left over, feel free to use it again. And you’re welcome.”

 

Harry laughed while keeping an eye on five rambunctious boys all under seven years old at the magical play garden near the Burrow.

 

“We’re done. We get this little girl here safe and sound and I’m going to get a permanent fix. Can’t keep up with you, Severus. Ginny said Hermione wanted a girl too. Did you use the potion?”

 

A finger flick, from his father, kept the eldest of the young Slytherins safely within the cushy confines of the attraction; the boy bored a magical hole in the protective barrier, hoping to bounce through it to an adventurous landing. Hermione had no doubt of their eventual house destinations when sorted at their father's workplace: she'd given birth to three affectionate, wickedly precocious snakes. Severus — who paled every few minutes at his brood's sheer delight in dangerously daring "rough and tumble" play — begged to differ.

 

“Yes, but I neglected to research its effects on magically bonded couples so we’re getting two-for-one — one of each; Cetus and Hypatia. My Gryffindor’s in the middle third of this pregnancy —”

 

The eyebrow waggle from Severus shocked Harry, still unused to the idea of Professor Snape marrying his best friend and his teacher's best student.

 

“The shag-all-the-time part. My favorite. Ginny’s not quite — James! Let Corvus up! Don’t sit on his head! Real comedian, my son.”

 

Harry's own junior marauder effected an innocent look while delaying his compliance with his father's orders.

 

“Caelum sits on his brother’s head with alarming regularity," Severus noted, hoping to reduce Harry's embarrassment. "I blame it on Hermione’s violent genes. Corvus’ child magic remains too unreliable to defend himself.”

 

Inside the playground activity, James and Albus Potter contentedly collided with Caelum, Corvus and Crux Granger-Snape. Away from the bounce house, Ginny and Hermione rested on a bench while they shared a smorgasbord of treats — candied nuts, chocolate biscuits, ice cream and crisps. Both women, while gravid, plotted together daily how to get maximum spoiling out of their respective husbands. The fun would _really_ begin in four months; their due dates were a week apart. 

 

“Confess, Hermione. What did Severus give you to get twins?”

 

Hermione missed her mouth with the ice cream cone from laughing so hard.

 

“Nothing, I swear! Unless you consider… you know… as ‘ _giving_ me something’.”

“I **do** — which is why you’re about to have five children in your house under six years old. You’re two of the most powerful wizards in Europe — _can’t you master a simple contraceptive spell_? You’ve lost your minds!”

 

In her mind's eye, Mrs. Granger-Snape contemplated the odd coincidence that three honeymoon/anniversary celebrations at their cozy cottage in Iceland led to the three maelstroms who wore their father out almost every day.

Historically, she pondered further, trips without the children tended to lead to massive amounts of horizontal marital behavior — the very reason they seldom took adult holidays anywhere  _but_ the cottage. She'd yet to reason out the perpetual failure of contraceptive charms or pregnancy prevention potions (and they'd tried both) but she vowed to work it all out (before five _or more_ additional Snapes were created). Her newest hypothesis asserted this: unless both partners in the bond genuinely wanted to avoid pregnancy, the charms nor potions would work; Severus practiced producing a large family of Granger-Snapes almost daily.

That idea sat better with her than the idea that Severus kept her pregnant by ( _ **intentionally**_ ) sabotaging her family-planning spell-casting and potion-brewing efforts.

 

"They don't always work, you know."

 

The curly-haired brunette — whose mane cascaded near her bum (thanks to her pregnancy) — magically retrieved the pack of her favorite chocolate digestives hidden by her twin-filled baby bump. 

 

"Are the twins the last?"

 

While stuffing a digestive in her mouth alongside a lick of ice cream, Hermione considered Ginny’s question. This led to a smile so lustful, Ginny flushed at the mental image of her best friend’s activities with their old potions teacher in their marital bed — fanning herself while she waited for an explanation.

 

“I’d say ‘No’;” Mrs. Potter's best friend finally answered, “but we’ll probably take a break until these two go to Reception before we start up again. I need to finish up my residency at St. Mungos and our mothers could use a break.” 

 

Molly Weasley and Jeannie Granger traded off keeping Hermione’s, Ginny’s and George-&\- Angelina’s children while their parents worked - eight in all and half under the age of three.

 

“You thought I was joking when I put down ’10’ in that bridal shower game!”

“I did!” Ginny admitted.

“On our anniversary, before Caelum and Corvus were getting around as much, Severus ‘suggested’ we have one every year. Having to take care of the boys last month when I came down with Hooting Cough changed his mind,” she laughed, shaking curls loose from her ponytail.

 

"I'd suggest fewer holidays in that cottage."

 

Hermione blushed scarlet at Ginny's innuendo.

 

"You're one to talk, Gin! I recall being BEGGED to provide access to our cottage for a week so you could — in _your_ words: 'shag Harry's brains out until we make a daughter!'"

"Harry's an auror — a too bloody dedicated one! We needed a place Kingsley couldn't find while we were on hols!"

"You mean on 'baby duty', don't you? The pot shouldn't refer to the kettle as 'black'."

“I —” Ginny began then stopped, her eyes focused on something behind Hermione.

“Gin?… What’s wrong? Is it one of the boys!?”

“No,” Ginny sighed in annoyance, “it’s my git of a brother — Ron. Do you want me to get rid of him?”

 

Hermione sighed and twisted on the bench to face him.

 

“No — I don’t want to draw attention.”

“He’s coming this way.”

 

A snapping sound accompanied the arrival of Ginny's wand into her waiting hand after her silent  _Accio_. 

Having married a Slytherin and birthed three active boy, Hermione seldom needed her wand to use her magic (when not brewing or healing).

 

“Yes, Ronald? What do you want?”

“Nothing, really. How are you, ‘Mione? I see you’re expecting.”

 

Shabby clothes and nervous rocking from foot to foot stayed the scathing reply Hermione had practiced since he'd forced his way onto the hospital ward after her miscarriage of their daughter. She'd not seen Ron, to speak to, in years. In quieter moments, she wondered if her zealous pursuit of another child came from the desire to treat a hurt that wouldn't quite heal. A nagging pain he'd caused...

 

“We’re fine, Ronald. Where’re your children?”

“With the ex. Little behind on my cheques… Her 'fiancé' took them all to Florida to DisneyWorld for the weekend. Rich prat.”

 

Instinctively, Ron moved towards his sister and her best friend as if the group still included him.

 

“Stop right there, Ron,” Ginny warned him, “save yourself some pain.”

“I think about you, Hermione. I shoulda treated you better. I was a right bastard, full of myself. War and all… I miss you. You still with _Snape_?”

 

The name came with disgust, resolving Hermione's choice of how to deal with the interloper. Sympathy for their shared loss fled from her voice when she spoke.

 

“You know I am and, yes, these are his children — and so are those coming this way.”

 

Three raven-eyed rowdies ran full speed towards the bench, Crux — the baby — screaming “Mummy” and smiling. Clearly, Molly Weasley told her youngest son nothing about the children she mothered and grand-mothered two or three days a week.

 

“Hermione," Severus huffed with visible fatigue, "the boys are exhausted and so am — Weasel. _Why are you this close to my wife_?”

“Didn’t mean nothing, _Snape_. Just catching up. Haven’t seen ‘Mione in a while. Looks like you two have been _busy_.”

 

The subject of the sentence rose awkwardly, cradling her twin-filled belly, incensed at the insult.

 

“And we’re not done. Your mother’s hoping we hit ten. Sev, these two —” and she moved closer to allow her husband to rub her bump affectionately, “should be fed something other than sugar. It’s time to go, boys. Kiss Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny good-bye. Gin, we’ll see you tomorrow for dinner. Good evening, Ronald.”

“See you ‘round, ‘Mione.” 

 

The Snape family huddled together and Severus apparated everyone to their village outside Hogsmead.

 

“Grow up, Ron, or you’ll lose your own kids again,” Harry warned. “Got a job, yet?”

 

Ron looked ashamed and shook his head “No” in Harry’s direction. 

 

The Ministry removed Ron as an auror for abuse of power. Only Harry’s intervention kept a wand in his hand. News of his dismissal flooded the magical news, pushing him to more outlandish behavior in a desperate attempt to gain back his former fame and glory. The lesser member of the trio spun like a dervish from one bad choice to another, ignoring the well-intentioned advice from those who genuinely cared about him. 

In no time his money and his opportunities disappeared. So did the list of people who would answer his owls.

Molly Weasley blamed Ron’s obsession with Hermione for his sudden marriage to an already-pregnant Daphne Greengrass — a snobbish, social-climbing  pure-blood intent on improving her station in life by snagging one of the "new" elite: Ron Weasley of the “Golden Trio”. Three years and three pregnancies _after_ the wedding, slow-witted Daphne decided that Ron’s prospects — and, therefore, _hers_ — had diminished considerably. 

She divorced Ron for Draco Malfoy, taking his four children with her. Draco’s lawyers used the years of back child support Ron owed to limit his access to his children.

With no career, no wife and no children to speak of, Ron cleared his calendar and resumed his obsessive pursuit of Hermione Granger-Snape. Like the rest of his endeavors since the defeat of Voldemort, Ron failed superbly at this effort.

 

“Can I come by for dinner?” Ron asked.

 

Neither Harry nor Ginny were fooled.

 

“Sure, you can come today; not tomorrow.”

“I’ll see you in an hour. Thanks, Harry.”

“Bye Uncle Ron!” Harry’s kids called out.

“Mum says Ron’s never going to give up on Hermione.”

“Let’s hope Snape lives to be 200. He’ll need to, the way they’re making little Snapes.”

 

With a lascivious laugh, Harry apparated the Potter family to their home near the Burrow.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

“We’re not home. Sev???”

“I thought it wise to walk the adrenaline and the sugar out of our systems. The boys will sleep more soundly after dinner and eventually so will we.”

 

Hermione chuckled at his subtle come on.

 

“I’m already pregnant.”

“Keeping you in shape for the next one, Mrs. Snape.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Lying in bed, sated and content, Hermione adjusted to get comfortable when an arm, tanned by a day in the sun, settled around her expanding middle.

 

“Hermione?…” came her bonded mate's drowsy voice.

“Hmm???”

“Our first New Year’s Eve, in the cottage in Flatley. I prayed to Merlin that Ron would treat you well, take care of you. I prayed he would love you like I did.”

“Tell me, please.”

 

Sighing in embarrassment despite six years of marriage and almost five children, he repeated the words that accompanied his most unselfish act:

 

“ _Merlin, grant me this: Pray let her be happy with him; let him love her as she deserves… as I would love her…”_

“Did Lily know? That you prayed James would love her as you did?”

 

He responded by snugging closer to his wife and kissing that part of her neck that reinforced their bond.

 

"Smartest witch in a century..." he murmured against her skin.

 

Tears came, as they always did when she was pregnant.

 

“I _am_ well loved, Sev.”

“When I saw that pitiful prat Weasel today I thought ‘Thank the stars Merlin ignored me this time’.”

 

Two sets of tiny feet inside a chuckling Hermione kicked his arm in agreement.

 

 

 

_Finis_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written as a ChallengeFic response when I stumbled across on another site. I typed in the wrong combination of words to search and found a site I’d never discovered before. I want to thank the challenge originator — MissCourtneyC — for the inspiration.
> 
> It was my first story in this fandom and will always hold a special place. We should all, at least once in this life, experience a love as deep and committed as Sev and Hermione...


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